Twenty for the Twenties

I realized today, courtesy of a wretched friend with far too good of a memory, that I have a birthday coming up in two months.  And it's the last birthday of my twenties.

I need a pause so that I may suck in my breath dramatically.

Thank you.  I think that helped a little.

Yes, I know that 29 is not old, that I have plenty more years ahead of me (well, probably — I mean, I've cheated death so many times now that I'm starting to think that I might be part cockroach), and that birthdays are not the enemy.  But, I still am having a hard time realizing that the twenties are almost over.  I mean, where did the time go?  And how did it go so quickly?

I used to make lists of things to do each year, and I got out of the practice after completely failing at the list I made before turning 26.  This year, however, in honor of 29 being the last year of my twenties, I have made a list of twenty things to do before my twenties are over (sort of a 'bucket list'):

1. Go to Ireland.  See the original Book of Kells, Skellig Michael, Christ Church Cathedral, Trinity College, and about a dozen other sites.
2. Go to 桂林 (Guilin), one of the most beautiful places in China.
3. Go to 云南 (Yunnan) province.
4. Pass the HSK 4.
5. Pass the HSK 5.
6. Learn to crochet.
7. Get a dog.
8. Finish editing and publishing Sidhe Eyes.
9. Write my second novel.
10. Start my second master's degree (an M.Ed. this time).
11. Write a textbook.
12. Read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe in Chinese.
13. Figure out Evernote.  
14. Try a hobby that I've never tried before.
15. Eat a fruit that I've never seen before.
16. Lose the weight that I gained in grad school.
17. Decorate my next apartment.  (I have avoided this in the past two apartments.)
18. Make my own cookbook of recipes that can 'easily' be made in China.
19. Start keeping a journal again.
20. Have a qípáo made.

Resolutions for 2012

I'm resuming my former tradition of making and attempting to keep New Year's resolutions (I took a year off in 2011, after I failed to keep several of my 10 resolutions in 2010). And so (drumroll please), here are my official resolutions for 2012:

1.  I am going to renew a resolution I made back in 2009:  To focus on the things that I can alter, not the things that I wish I could alter.

2.  I resolve to learn at least two new skills this year.

3.  I resolve to improve even faster at my Chinese.  For starters, I am aiming to know 100 characters by the time I resume my Chinese lessons on January 30 (right now I know about 50 characters).

4.  I resolve to walk more . . . once I get this ankle straightened out.

5.  I resolve to finish writing Sidhe Eyes (my fellow authors at Lantern Hollow Press will cheer on this resolution, especially since the book was supposed to be finished last summer originally).

2011 in Review

2011 was . . . wow, even I am at a loss as to how to describe it.  I think this is the best I can do:  2011 was a bipolar teenage female year having a very rough, long menstrual cycle and occasionally getting drunk or taking mind-altering anti-psychotic medications in order to cope with it, and also battling numerous authority issues.  Yup, that about sums up 2011.

History students will one day study this year -- actually, my history students will study it for a little while when they return to school at the end of January!  It was the year of protests, revolutions, scandals, dead despots, and the world media's obsession with Pippa Middleton's rear end.  I don't have space for all of the events that took place, but here were just a few that captured my attention:

• The US finally got Bin Laden.  Now I am not a person who rejoices in death of anyone, but here I had to make an exception.  That man was evil.  I don't care that another will just rise up to take his place; Bin Laden had a special kind of dreadful hate about him, and I cheered when I read that he was gone from the world at last.  I still have nightmares sometimes about September 11 -- that day will likely haunt me for the rest of my life, and I didn't even lose anyone that day.  I cannot forget the horrible, wrenching fear that gripped us all that day and the days that followed.  My teenage journal records all the sleepless nights I spent as a high-schooler, convinced that we were headed for World War III.
• The Arab Spring.  It was like a game of Middle Eastern dominoes, with revolutions breaking out right and left and Twitter and Facebook suddenly playing a role that their creators never imagined.  I hope and pray that the new governments will do better by their people than the old, but . . . I am not holding my breath.
• The deaths of Qaddafi and Kim.  Two more evil men, both of whom had hands and hearts so blackened with blood and corruption that they almost ceased to be human. Others will take their places, sadly.  Especially in the case of North Korea, winter is far from over.
• A whole bunch of people throughout the US got really mad, had no common goals/aims/ideologies, and decided to riot and basically make lawless pests of themselves.  I'm sorry -- I just can't take the "Occupy" protesters seriously.  Change is not brought about by neglecting your responsibilities, shouting, waving signs (several of them with abominably bad spelling, by the way), and trying to goad the police into using gas.  What takes place when those protesters gather is nothing grander than small-scale anarchy -- it's like a bunch of overgrown toddlers throwing tantrums because Mommy won't let them breastfeed anymore.  Yes, change needs to happen, though I am certain I disagree with most of the protesters as to exactly what type of change is necessary.  There is certainly a better way to bring it about.

2011 was a big year in my personal life as well.  I really have no historical significance at all, although I do like to hope that I at least brighten whatever corner I happen to be in (I do try, anyway).  However, since this is MY blog, I'm going to indulge in mild narcissism and review some of the big events that happened to me this year:

• I brought in 2011 with no clear idea of what my future held, other than that I was pretty sure God was ignoring my wishes and calling me back to the classroom.  After the Manasses experience, I had sworn off ever teaching again.  Fortunately, God knows what's best for me and never listens to my feeble protests (to be fair, He does make the journey very pleasant once I stop kicking and screaming).  It was not until February that I became aware that I was likely headed back overseas in my future -- and even then, I confess that I had plenty of doubts.  I had two dogs, tons of furniture, and a car -- how could I possibly leave the USA?
• I fought the War of the Thesis.  It was bloody, exhausting, fraught with danger and difficulty, plus the CIA tried to reclassify a large portion of the documents that I needed.  At several points, both my thesis chair and I believed that the thing would never be written.  I had nightmares about showing up to my defense with nothing to defend.  I even wrote a short story about my thesis becoming self-aware, coming to life, and trying to kill me.  On April 23, just a few months after I started, I was able to write on this blog, "As of 10:00 am today, the horrible, monstrous, insidious, ill-formed offspring of my feeble mind, also known as my thesis, which has plagued me like a host of ten thousand camels tap-dancing on my shoulders in combat boots, is finally written."  On May 2, I defended the monster and passed with flying colors!  In the same vein, I graduated on May 13 with my Master of Arts degree in history, having completed it in a year and a half, and finishing with High Distinction (solid 4.0).  That's pretty much the biggest achievement in my 27 years of life.
• There was, of course, the car accident on May 6.  A distracted young driver hit me head-on on a mountain road.  She is now trying to push a claim against me.  Ah, irresponsible, greedy Americans -- how they warm the heart.
• I moved to China!  It was by far the biggest decision of my life, but once I made it, I never doubted that it was the right choice (even though my family thought I was nuts -- they usually do, so I lovingly ignored them).  Since leaving in late July, I have found a degree of happiness and contentment that I previously could never have imagined.  I teach at a fantastic school with the finest group of educators I have ever met, and my students are a brilliant and witty ensemble of pure awesomeness. I don't have a single student that I would like to lead to the guillotine!  I occasionally indulge in the mental image of bopping one or two of them, but on the whole, I love 'em all!  I also have had my heart completely stolen away by China -- who would ever have foreseen it?
• My mom got sick.  This was, for me, probably the most difficult thing to get through in 2011.  She's doing all right now, but for a while, she had me pretty terrified.  It's really tough to grapple with sick relatives and not be able to do anything for them because you're thousands of miles away.
• I wound up on this surprise extended journey in Korea, all because of an obstinate ankle that refuses to behave.

And so, I face 2012 with a lot less uncertainty than I faced 2011 (for one thing, I have THE BEST JOB EVER! and for another, I don't have to worry about whether or not I can actually write a thesis).  As I enter another year, I do have a few questions on my mind:

• Will I start the new year with an operation?
• When do I get to leave Korea and go back to China (not that Korea isn't a great country, but China is home)?
• Will Kim Jong-Un be as evil as his father?  What will happen here in Asia because of him?
• How will I ever get this bloodsucking reckless driver off my back?  Doesn't she realize that I'm as good as a pauper?!
• How soon is too soon to give my freshmen a pop quiz next semester?
• Being out of sight, is it only a matter of time before I'm out of mind for the people I left behind in the USA?  Has it already happened with some?
• How can I better brighten my corner?  Am I doing enough?

Farewell, 2011!  Welcome into the world, 2012!

And a happy New Year to everyone!

"No Unnecessary Walking"

The doctor said "no unnecessary walking".

I am not a good patient.  When a doctor tells me to rest and drink lots of fluids, I go to work instead (but I do increase my coffee intake -- hey, coffee is a fluid!).  Actually, I don't even go to the doctor for most illnesses.  I follow the example set by my mother and wait until it's bronchitis or plague.  I'm a Thompson -- we're tough!  (And stubborn, and accident-prone . . . ).  When I sprain my ankle, I often don't bother to ice it (but I do wrap and elevate . . . and then walk on it).  I never finish antibiotics -- I stop when the symptoms stop or when I just plain forget to take them.  Yes, thanks to that habit, I will probably be one of those people who die of antibiotic-resistant ear infection someday.  When I had my wisdom teeth removed, I pulled out my own stitches -- and the pain was a lot more bearable after I did so.  I don't read all the warnings on medication.  I don't measure out my cough syrup -- I just take a big gulp from the bottle when I feel like I need it.  I never stay on crutches as long as I'm supposed to.

Yes, I am a very, very bad patient.  A patient with no patience for being a patient, in fact.  Which, coupled with chronic badluckitus, is not a good combination.  Not at all.  I am very often a patient, and I seldom listen to all the directions.

I really am trying to be a good patient right now.  I'm trying not to walk . . . but not walking is BORING!  I watched a Chinese soap opera with Korean subtitles today (I understood about 10% of what was said and absolutely none of the subtitles).  I studied my Chinese characters.  I played Sparkle on my iPad.  I threw a rope for my friend's dog.  I did laundry.  I planned writing assignments for my sophomores and my freshmen (mwa ha ha).  I practiced my epitome-of-evil-supervillain-history-teacher laugh.  I tried not to think about how much I really wanted a long walk . . . even in freezing-beyond-belief, so-cold-that-your-eyeballs-turn-to-iceballs Seoul.  Occasionally, I cast hate-filled glances at my ankle and talked aloud of amputation (the ankle heard me.  I don't care if it doesn't have ears).

Four more days until I return to the hospital for more tests.  Four more days of being a good patient. . . . You know, I wouldn't mind taking a cross-country trip to Jinju again . . . maybe walk around that castle for a few hours?

Okay, fine.  I'll go find another Chinese soap opera with Korean subtitles.

Stephanie Returns to Gyeongju

Yesterday, I stood in the exact same spot where I had stood three years ago.  Actually, I probably stood in a lot of the same spots where I was three years ago.  Sadly, a lot of things have changed since then.  I was hoping to prove Daphne du Maurier wrong for once, but she really was uncannily correct when she wrote, "We can never go back to Manderly."

I flew into Korea on the 27th, and since this voyage is mostly for the purpose of having my bad ankle finally tended to, I opted to go down to Gyeongju on the 28th, before any doctor had the chance to tell me to stay off my ankle.  They've gotten a high speed train down there since I was there, which means that it now takes just a little over two hours to go from the top of Korea to near the bottom (i.e. Seoul to Gyeongju).

I won't lie -- I was feeling pretty sappy and emotional about going back for a visit.  I had eager plans to surprise Cate, my wonderful former boss.  I thought there might be a chance of even running into former students, though they would have grown quite a bit since I saw them last.  That year that I spent there in Gyeongju was one of the most foundational years of my life -- it was the year that I went from being a pathetic, broken shell of a human being (2006 and 2007 were not kind to me), took back the reins, and grew into a person I could feel confident being.  I had a lot of spiritual growth during that year, too.

I anticipated that Gyeongju would not be exactly the same as I left it -- after all, Korea changes incredibly quickly.  I just didn't count on one very sad change . . .

English World is gone.  The small, successful hagwon (academy) where I worked for that lovely year has left without a trace.  Perhaps it failed during the economic hardships that have struck the world, or perhaps Cate just grew tired of the stress of running it.  I have no idea where she is now -- English World was the only link to finding her.  In its place is a completely different business now, and the building, though fundamentally the same, is also changed.

I walked all around the city, ignoring the protests from my ankle, marveling at what had changed and what had stayed the same.  Many of the stores I patronized are still there, even the dinky little Hello Kitty store where I used to buy stationary.  The coffee place that I loved most is now a different type of restaurant, though the outer decor of the building is the same.  I found the spot downtown where I fell and sprained my bad ankle during my first month in Korea, and avoided a repeat.  I chuckled when I crossed the street at the same crosswalk where the infamous pears-down-the-shirt incident took place.  I avoided slipping on the curb where I tumbled off my bike one morning, and I gave a friendly wave to the tomb that I used to pass each day on my way to English World.  I stopped at the "fish cookie lady's" stand to buy the treat that I used to love -- and she misunderstood my request for two cookies, made me buy a whole bag instead, and yelled at me.  A creepy guy tried to get me to share his sausage-on-a-stick.  He did not stir any sentimental memories for me.

In the end, between all of the cross-country travel, I only spent about 4 hours back in Gyeongju.  And, honestly, those four hours were a bit disappointing -- no joyous reunions, the "fish cookie lady" has turned mean and senile, and the foreign friends have all gone on to other places.  Nevertheless, I'm glad I had the chance to go back for a day.  The last time I was there, I really thought it was the last time.  It was nice to be wrong.

And to Cate, wherever she may be now:  Thanks for a wonderful year, and for being one of the best bosses I ever worked for.  I'll never forget all of your kindness to me.

Keeping Christmas in China

This year was my first Christmas in China, and I am happy to say that it was suitably special.  I opted for a four-day-long observance of the holiday, since it is, after all, my favorite holiday (yup, I'm corny that way).

On the 23rd, I kicked off my festivities by inviting some of my closest Chinese friends (and a couple of American friends) over for a traditional Midwestern dinner and my favorite Christmas movie -- It's a Wonderful Life.  I made a really simple chicken casserole, which my Chinese friends loved, to my relief (I always worry that they won't like our buttery western foods, but they always surprise me).  The movie was even more meaningful than usual, likely because I had to explain quite a bit of it to my friends.  I got to see it from their perspective, and I realized that it really is a film of universal truths.

I was invited to quite a few festivities on Christmas Eve, but after a wonderful-but-exhausting semester of school, I really just wanted a lazy day to myself.  So, I spent the entire day in my pajamas, watching movies and playing Age of Empires (I am proud to say that Napoleon, Queen Elizabeth, Ivan the Terrible, and Queen Isabella were all soundly defeated).  I slept in far later than any adult should (I think it was about 11:00 when I finally got up!) and I ate decidedly unhealthy junk food.  It was just the tonic I needed, especially after all the stress from finals -- my students think they have it tough, but they don't realize how painful the grading process can be!

Christmas was really unique.  I mean, really, really unique.  I enjoyed a traditional English Christmas, complete with turkey and crackers (the kind that explode and have goodies inside, not the kind that one eats with cheese).  I celebrated with a few British friends, a sweet Finnish gal, two fellow Americans, and several new Chinese friends.  We had a riotous game of multi-lingual charades after dinner.  One of the highlights was me pretending to be a watermelon.  Another wonderful moment was watching someone else act out a very energetic octopus.

On Boxing Day, my last full day in China before departing for my trip to Korea, I had a wonderful stew dinner with several other foreigners.  It was like an evening spent with family -- the kind of family that one likes belonging to, not the kind that binds and gags.

I hope you all had lovely Christmases, too, readers!

Penglai Photos (Courtesy of Kathryn)

Here are some more photos from our enchanting travels two weeks ago:

Just look at these "delectables" for sale!  Anyone hungry?

Perhaps this tasty lunch would please your palate more.

Yummy!

Boats lined up along the waterfront.

A gorgeous temple and pagoda

China is full of beautiful architectural features like this.

There's just something cool about seeing all these old boats lined up.
I wonder what stories they could tell?

More old-fashioned boats at sea (Yellow Sea)

I love the fantastic colors of this pagoda.

Closer shot of the temple (pictured earlier)

The Eight Immortals (Linda and Maggie explained some of the legends about them to me)

Chinese countryside

Kathryn and I

Every now and then, I have to pinch myself --
I just can't believe that I get to LIVE in this country!

Such an awesome sight!

This is by the church that Lottie Moon built.  This path makes me want to run down it!

Call Me Calamity

"Where in the USA are you, Stephanie?"  This is a question I've been getting asked a lot recently, and with good reason.  The past few weeks and the next month are full to the brim with travel.  I keep remarking to people, "I can't wait to get to China and sleep!"

From the 8th to 12th of June, I was in Albany, New York for my friend and former college roommate Sarah's wedding. She was the best roommate I've ever had (the girl fed me soup and changed my pajamas when I was sick -- how many friends will do that?), so being her maid of honor meant a lot to me.  Finally, I got the opportunity to do something big and meaningful for her.  It was also loads of fun catching up with her brothers, now that we were all free from the highly (ridiculously) restrictive/oppressive/strict/authoritarian college that we attended (which I, thankfully, transferred out of as a junior).

The beaming bride and I.

The wedding went beautifully, with very few hitches.  Oh, it rained on the wedding day and I suffered the humiliation of requiring three people to help me zip my bridesmaid dress (stupid thesis weight gain!), but none of that mattered when Sarah walked down the aisle.  In her white dress, her appearance was almost as beautiful as her soul.  I got pretty emotional seeing her come down toward us, as fleeting images of freshman and sophomore years flitted past.  I saw the two of us, playing pranks on our RA, strutting arm-in-arm down the commons while singing, pretending to be British secret agents while enjoying ice cream, scrubbing the dorm room furiously in order to pass our White Glove inspections . . . and now I'm tearing up again!

Being me, I naturally had to have at least one fiasco.  Call me Calamity!  On the day after the wedding, I was supposed to leave Albany and take the train back to Lynchburg, arriving home safely at 8:30 pm.  Sarah, who in all the nine years I have known her has never been wrong, was convinced that my train left at 12:55 pm.  I checked the ticket, saw "New York" and "12:55 pm" on it, and assumed that once again, Sarah was write.  Perhaps it was the wedding excitement -- for the first time, Sarah was wrong.  I learned this after her parents dropped me off at the train station.  I thought it odd that my train number was not among those listed, even though it should be departing in less than half an hour.  I checked the ticket . . . and discovered that I had looked at the wrong ticket when I checked the day before.  My train had left without me four hours earlier!

I ran to the ticket counter and begged to be rebooked.  The kindly ticket agent sadly informed me that all the trains to Virginia were morning trains.  I would not be getting out that day.  Since I knew that I had to move in three days, this situation just wouldn't work.  I called out city after city in Virginia, which a headshake in response to each.  I tried North Carolina -- no luck.  Finally, in desperation, I asked to be routed to Washington, DC, then frantically called friends seeking someone willing to drive almost four hours up to retrieve me.  I was in luck.  My friend Cody, a knight after the order of Lancelot in spirit, graciously volunteered.  He got lost on the way up, but no matter:  at 9:30 that night, he found me.  We made it in to Lynchburg at 2:30 am.

On the bright side, it was neat to see Union Station.  And how fitting to visit DC one last time before leaving the country!

Snowbound

In an exciting turn of events, severe winter weather decided to hit our area, leaving us all stranded on the mountain! Fortunately, the Melton's house is well-stocked with food, internet, and DVDs, so we're all quite happy being stuck here. To pass the time, in addition to such wholesome activities as shooting each other (and Jasper) with Nerf guns, we've also been enjoying some hilarious videos on YouTube. One that we found is just too good not to share:



Note to my parents: Don't worry, we'll be able to make it down off the mountain by late tomorrow, so Rachel and I are still leaving for Michigan on the 28th.

Here's hoping everyone else is having equally fun holidays!

For Christmas

No Christmas is complete without my favorite Christmas songs:

Merry Christmas, everyone! As Tiny Tim said, "God bless us, every one!"

A Memorable Advent

It has truly been the best Advent ever for me. I just can't believe that in one year I started out with no friends in the area, hoping desperately to find just one kindred spirit, and ended up part of a closely-knit family of kindred spirits. I just can't believe how richly God has blessed me in 2010. To suddenly be essential and wanted, when before I felt displaced and even ignored, is a blessing for which I cannot stop marveling.

I've started several Christmas traditions for myself this year, as I suspect that I still have many years ahead of being single, and refuse to allow that circumstance to rob me of holiday joy. The first new tradition was my real tree. In my whole life, I had never had a real Christmas tree, and thus had no idea what I was missing. I cannot say enough how much better my real tree has been. The scent, the appearance, the fun of selecting the perfect one (I named him Clarence) . . . it's definitely going to take place each year, from now on.

Additionally, I greatly enjoyed my cookie-invention tradition, although I went a bit above and beyond this year: I invented five new types of cookies. Handing them out to others was so rewarding that I've decided to continue that each year as well. I regret that I did not have the time to make homemade cards, as I did last year, but I will make a solid effort to reinstate that tradition next year. I also plan to add in advent candles and readings next year; I meant to do it this year, but all the problems with migraines and medications left me too exhausted to put forth the effort.

Last weekend, I went with friends to see part of Handel's Messiah performed in Appomattox; it was absolutely heavenly. The music from Messiah always gives me goosebumps! As I often say, the mark of truly great music is when it makes the hair on the back of one's neck stand up. After the music, my close friends Rachel and David and I went out to a local coffee shop for coffee and biscotti. We ended up staying for a few hours! A few other patrons pulled out instruments, and before we knew it, the entire coffee shop (about twenty people) were spontaneously singing Christmas carols together. It was magical, like something you would see in a Frank Capra film. As the complete strangers sang together and shared holiday memories, you could feel the true spirit of Christmas enveloping that little coffee shop. I almost expected Jimmy Stewart to burst through the door and wish us all a merry Christmas!

On Tuesday of this week, the dogs and I headed up in the mountains to spend the remainder of Advent with dear friends from Lantern Hollow Press. Cozily ensconced around their old-fashioned wood-burning stove, with a fire adding both warmth and ambiance, we've had a lovely time. We've spent many hours editing, working on audio versions of stories (Brian built an impressive sound booth), and writing some new material. In addition, there has been plenty of fun, like cooking, baking, and watching scary shows after seven-year-old Annora is tucked into bed.

I've been able to spend loads of quality time with my very precocious goddaughter, Annora. We went sledding together the other day, we've watched Christmas movies together, and we've had some very enjoyable conversations (I love hearing a seven-year-old's vast store of wisdom). Annora told me all about her hopes for Christmas, and informed me that "I have been a very good girl this year, at least recently." Yesterday, when I had a horrible migraine all day long, Annora sweetly rubbed my neck for me and prayed for me. When I gratefully told her that I could not possibly have picked a nicer goddaughter than her, Annora replied, "But Aunt Stephanie, you didn't pick me. Mama and Daddy picked you!"

Jasper and Éowyn have loved running about off-leash in the snow, antagonizing the cats (the Meltons have two), exploring the house, playing with Annora, and grabbing any food that drops during the Christmas cooking. Yesterday Annora and I made rice crispy snowmen, which gave the dogs plenty of opportunity for droppings. Of course, Annora and I would never create normal snowmen; ours were alien snowmen with googly eyes, horns on their heads, and in one case, a bit of blood (candy) pouring from a battle wound (Annora's idea).

The best part of the holiday (so far) came yesterday. Annora dearly loves her grandmother and has been a bit saddened at not having her here for the holiday. Little did she know, one of her presents was her grandmother! Although Brian, Kami, and I have all nearly blown the secret in the past week, we miraculously managed to keep Annora from figuring out what was going on. Last night, we went out to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants, a trip sullied only by the fact that we had to stop for me to vomit on the way (the migraine was in full power). Throwing up did a lot of good; the migraine was nearly gone by the time we reached the restaurant.

As we sat pretending to look at our menus, Kami got the video camera fixed on Annora, who happily hammed it up and babbled away for the camera. Suddenly, her eyes grew wide as she observed a familiar figure walking into the restaurant.

"That looks like, that can't be . . . that's Nanny! It's Nanny! How did Nanny get here? Nanny, how did you get here? How did you do that?" Little Annora was the most adorable mixture of surprise, joy, and childlike confusion. It was so precious to see a little girl getting what she wanted most of all for Christmas!

Annora said the blessing for the meal, which she loves to do. I was overwhelmed at the sweet and merciful spirit of this little girl when she prayed specifically for a family we have never met, whom I read about in a news article a few days ago. This Ohio family lost all three children in a fire on the weekend, then the grandparents died in a car accident on the way to the funeral. It's a tragically sad story, but I did not expect a young child to remember it so clearly and take it to heart, particularly when she only overheard me telling her parents about the story. She's been thinking a lot about that family; I wish more of us could be so caring about strangers. We could all learn a lot from children.

Tonight will be a truly special Christmas Eve. We'll be dining on a delicious venison roast this evening, then driving out to St. Timothy's for the Christmas Eve service. After the service, we're having an extended fellowship time, along with a Christmas toast. Then we'll all troop back up the mountain, joined by two more friends. We'll hang our stockings, watch Christmas movies, and eat yummy baked goods. Best of all, we'll all be surrounded by people we love. That's the best Christmas gift anyone could ask for.

Listen for the Bells

I've been increasingly reminded lately, even in the midst of the almost ceaseless migraines, of just how fortunate I am and how much I have been given. It seems like so many dreams that I had become practical and given up on have suddenly been laid out before me, wrapped in silver paper. If I were to try to write them out, I don't know that I would ever finish.

I wanted to give something back. So many people have entered and enriched my life this year; somehow, it wasn't enough just to thank God for them. I wanted to thank them, too. I wanted something more than that, even; I wanted to hear the bells.

There's an old story that I remember reading years ago, which made quite an impression. It was about an old chapel whose bells would only ring when someone gave a gift of true worth and love. Kings and other wealthy and important men traveled for many miles to reach the chapel, where they lay down gifts of jewels, gold, and beautiful garments on the alter. But the chimes remained silent. Week after week, the gifts continued to be given, and the chimes continued to stay still. People grew angry, believing that the bells were broken, or that their beautiful music was nothing but a lie concocted to gain wealth for the chapel. Many people took back their gifts and went on their way. Then, one particularly cold and windy night, a little boy came upon the chapel. He searched his pockets for something to give, but he had nothing. Finally, his face brightened into a smile and he took off his thin little coat and laid it on the alter. Instantly, the bells sprang to life, and the air was filled with the most beautiful chimes anyone had ever heard.

I think about those bells a lot. I didn't hear them last year, because I was too caught up in my own misery (largely self-imposed) to listen. But I did think about them then. I thought they had gone silent. So did one of my favorite poets, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, once. In 1862, he was having a miserable year. He had lost his dearly beloved wife, Frances, in a fire. His first-born son Charles had left abruptly earlier in the year to fight in the Civil War, and had been severely wounded at the Battle of New Hope Church. The war itself was ongoing, with no end in sight, and an entire country torn in half. On Christmas morning of 1862, a broken, heavy-hearted Longfellow put his pen to paper and the words poured out:

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."

Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!

Yesterday morning, sick with a migraine, I had to stay home from church. I started to feel sorry for myself, something I've been prone to with all of the health woes this semester. Then I thought about my favorite professor, one of the dearest people in the world, and the much worse health problems he is battling. I thought of some of the hard-working people I know who get over-looked or under-appreciated, and of some of the people with power whom I know, who deal with stress that completely dwarfs my own. I thought about how kind they have all been to me, and about the daily encouragement I receive from them.

I started baking. For the entire day, I ignored the migraine and stayed on my feet, until the entire kitchen and dining room were covered with warm, fragrant cookies. Although the pain and nausea never left, I didn't seem to feel as much of them. I focused on the people I was baking for and felt very, very blessed. In the back of my mind, I thought I heard a faint chiming.

Today, loaded down with an enormous box full of bags of fresh cookies, I played elf, going from office to office. I delivered cookies to all of my coworkers and professors, as well as a few deserving people who work in stressful offices. Nothing is quite as much fun as surprising frequently-overlooked and under-appreciated people with yummy baked goods. I got some hugs, a few cheers, lots of surprised looks, and lots of smiles. That's really one of the best parts of the holiday season: when you give something to someone, thereby letting them know that they matter enough to be thought of. The bells are beautiful then, unlike any earthly music.

It's amazing just how many deserving people get taken for granted, even people with the big offices and their own secretaries. I guess everyone just assumes that they know their own worth. I know that I often do. Maybe people don't think about it at all. Maybe a mass-mailed e-card seems like enough. Somehow, though, nothing brings quite the twinkle and smile that cookies or handmade gifts do.

It takes time to make things, a lot more time than it takes to fill a shopping cart. Especially now that online shopping makes it so much faster. You can sit, and you're comfortable, and your feet don't hurt. You don't burn your fingers, and there's no mess to clean up afterwards. The bells don't seem to ring as loudly, though. Sometimes they don't ring at all. I guess most people would say the bells don't really matter; after all, only the giver can usually hear them. And you can't keep them, or wear them, or replay them over and over. They're old-fashioned, maybe even corny. Sappy and sentimental, surely. But they are so beautiful . . .

The whole time you make a gift, you think of the one you're giving it to. A little bit of love goes into that stitch, or that paint-stroke, or that cookie batter. You're thinking about them, not yourself. That's a foreign concept today; I think some people would even laugh about it. What do you really get out of making things? Sore feet, sore back, burned fingers and palms, headache, a bit of sweat. It takes time; time is valuable. Time is ours; it ought to be spent on the things most important to us. Oughtn't it?

Last year I spent that time feeling sorry for myself, and I never heard a single bell. I missed those bells, but I was too busy with me to notice. A funny thing happened; the more I thought about my misery, the more miserable I felt. Misery loves fertile ground to grow and thrive in. Sometimes it generously invites its friends: regret, sorrow, bitterness, jealousy . . .

This year, I decided to spend the time better. I spent it remembering the hearty "good morning" that greets me every day, the offer of help when the copier gets stubborn, the concern when I don't feel well, the explanation of how to write the book review better next time. I spent time thinking about the helpful advice, the phone call that straightened out my student account, the joke that lightened a stressful day. People spent their time on me; yesterday I remembered. I gave back a little bit of time. The migraine made it cost more, but, for once, I spent it anyway.

And yesterday and today, I heard the bells.

I'm a Godmother Now!

Despite all of the stress of this horrible paper which refuses to write itself, yesterday was a very special day, and I willingly gave up valuable writing time just to enjoy it. Yesterday I gained one of the world's most brilliant, witty, and adorable seven-year-olds as my goddaughter.

Annora's baptism was a beautiful, tearful event, not only because I was so honored to become one of her godmothers, but also because of her own behavior at the event. In our church, there are a series of questions asked when one is baptized, sort of like marriage vows. The person being baptized is demonstrating not only their willingness, but also their readiness. For babies and young children (since we believe Covenant theology, we do baptize infants), the parents and godparents answer the questions. In little Annora's case, however, that smart little sprite answered the questions herself. Seriously, and with full understanding of exactly what she was saying, she answered each one in a clear, confident voice. Pretty much every person in the church teared up. Few things are as beautiful as a devout child.

Afterwards, the monthly potluck was held in Annora's honor. Despite all the homework waiting at home, I stayed for the whole thing. I love these potlucks; they're more like family gatherings. And the food we wind up with is so remarkably different from most potluck fare that it always makes me laugh. No green bean casserole, no fried chicken, no baked beans . . . but we did have Indian food, Jewish food, apricot chicken, and butternut squash soup, among the many other offerings.

Well, back to this dreadful paper now. Let's hope I can get the wretched thing done in the next few hours.

My Little Christmas Pups

Tonight I got the dogs to sit still and pose for pictures:

The Best Weekend

Last weekend was a model example of the perfect weekend. No kidding. And considering the tremendous stress of late and my recent emotional state, I needed it.

On Saturday morning, a group of five us girls met up at the church (only three of us attend that particular one, but it's an easy place to meet at) and headed off to gorgeous Bedford. Out by the Peaks of Otter is an adorable apple orchard and working farm where we intended to pick apples. The public picking had ended the week before, sadly, but we were still able to get loads of delicious apples from the barrels. I bought an entire peck of apples, and I have a great many happy schemes for them. We were invited to tour the farm, so we took our time strolling out in the fantastic September weather (sunny and warm), admiring the mountains in the background, petting cute animals, and generally being rather silly. One particularly friendly baby goat charged down a hill bleating at us as we went to leave, then insisted on being petted and exclaimed over by all before he would part company with us. He reminded me a bit of Jasper.

After the orchard, we drove into the town of Bedford to an adorable restaurant, The Station, where, oddly enough, I had my graduation luncheon back in 2006. The food is still as wonderful as ever, I am happy to report. We followed lunch with some shopping and sightseeing, then went back to my place for an evening of old movies. Yes, I have successfully converted not one, but ALL of my friends! Thanks to me, they are all freshly minted Myrna Loy, William Powell, Jean Arthur, Doris Day, Jack Benny, and Lionel Barrymore fans (oh, and they are steadily being introduced to a healthy diet of other legendary talents as well). I feel very proud.

On Sunday, my dear friend Rachel and I went to the new Sunday School class at our church for the first time. It was excellent, more like a group discussion than a class. I cannot wait for the next one! The service, as always, was meaningful and pertinent. Afterwards, I spoke to our priest about my desire to join the church as a member, and was heartily welcomed. I'm hoping to be able to be confirmed when the bishop visits in October. (I'll post about my switch in churches later, as longtime readers may be curious by the obvious departure from my previous church experience.)

After church, Rachel and I prepared a wonderful high tea and spent the rest of the day delighting in Jane Austen (we watched Persuasion) and reading for class, while sipping properly prepared tea, dainty sandwiches, and delicious hot scones with clotted cream and lemon curd. I have seldom had a weekend that so thoroughly distracted me during a time of difficulty. It was almost medicinal for me, and I found myself greeting the new week with much greater strength than I had hoped for.

Nothing Says "I Love You" Like an LSD-Addicted Frog

Walking through my local Kroger during a grocery run yesterday evening, two things struck me: 1. The nausea quotient of Valentine's Day, which I had thought already reached the top, has discovered new heights this year, and 2. Judging by some of the gifts being sold, people seem to express their love in exceedingly odd ways these days.

First, I should explain why I, a sane single woman, was even walking down the valentine aisle in the first place. I have a ROTC girls' party coming up in just over a week, which involves a "white elephant" gift exchange. I thought something in the way of chocolate might make a good gift to give, so I meandered over to the aisle which would be most likely to have the most options. Unfortunately, after that brief tour of "The Aisle of Love," I was too revolted to make any purchases from that aisle. I think I'll buy the gift after this pink and red holiday passes (goodness, even the colors they use for that day are sickening when put together).

Now onto what I saw. Apparently, this year, you can now express your undying love for that special someone with these unique (and tasteless) gifts:

1. A blue bug-eyed frog with a stupefied, almost soporific expression on its face, and its little tongue hanging out, apparently from the effects of some hypnotic drug. In his arms, he dazedly cradles a heart that bears the plaintive request "kiss me" (sorry bud, you're just not my type). If you squeeze this little fellow's arm, he starts playing a very loud rap song, encumbered with poor grammar and words which, contrary to current popular belief, do not actually exist in the English language.

2. A very creepy monkey with an almost sadistic expression on his face, who clutches a heart with the ominous phrase "You're Mine" written on it in bold letters. Ah, finally, the perfect gift for the girl who issued the restraining order against you last week!

3. A ginormous, sugar and chemical-laden, hypnotically-colorful lollipop in the shape of a rare flower never seen in nature. Nothing says "I love you" like carcinogens and diabetic coma!

4. The world's ugliest headband. I thought at first it was meant for a child, but upon closer (shudder!) examination, I discovered it to be too large for a child's head (unless, of course, your child is that huge baby The Enquirer likes to put on their front cover whenever they run out of new rumors to start). This hideous creation featured a HUGE gaudy red sequined heart coming off the side of it. In the first place, as I already mentioned, it is beyond ugly. In the second place, I'm scared of the traffic accidents that could result from drivers distracted by the huge heart coming out of some woman's head.

There were many other valentine atrocities that I saw in that aisle; thankfully, I have miraculously blocked them out of my mind, and thus will no longer be tormented by the memory of any of them.

Honestly, folks, I have nothing against the principle of Valentine's Day. A day of tangibly demonstrating your love for someone is certainly a great concept. Of course, I believe that if you truly love someone, you shouldn't need a holiday to demonstrate your love (you should be doing it every day), but that's another matter. In principle, Valentine's Day is wonderful. In practice, however . . . ick. Whatever happened to just writing someone a letter, extolling the reasons why you love them? A person can read your words a hundred times, and be reminded each time of your love. Or, if you absolutely must express your feelings through the practice of spending money, why not give a gift that truly reflects the person you love, rather than giving them some cheap stuffed creature that is just going to wind up being sold at a future garage sale (although, stuffed animals are very easy to burn in the instance of a break-up, and are often a great anger-releaser for the bitter, newly-single girl). Yes, it's the thought that counts. That said, if the thought results in a tasteless, bug-eyed frog that raps, do you really want that thought to count?

A Piece of Childhood

The first book that I ever read, besides of course short and silly favorites like Dr.Seuss, was called The Christmas Dog. I remember that my mother read it to me once, and then I battled my way through it (I was only 5 or 6, and the book is 64 pages long) until I had read it all by myself. I was so proud that I didn't need help. It was like all the mysteries and spells of the English language were broken in the reading of that one book. Suddenly, I could read anything and everything (and believe me, I did). The Christmas Dog remained my favorite for a few years, and remains in my thoughts to this day. My enjoyment of the book even went beyond reading it; I reenacted it so many times as a child, that I still have the entire story-line memorized!

Somehow or other, my copy of this book was lost somewhere around my fourth or fifth grade years. I felt the loss of the book acutely - it was like losing the very dear friend who gave me the world. After all, it was this book that gave me that last necessary key to open the world of reading. I searched in vain, but I never found my book (partly owing to the fact that I could not remember the name of the author, and partly because other books exist with the same title). Over the many years that passed, I never forgot my book either.

Repeatedly, as an adult, I made efforts to find this book once again. I tried libraries, bookstores, online; no one had heard of this book. Last week, I found myself unable to get this book out of my mind. Various things kept reminding me: the snow, which features prominently in the book, hearing someone say the name of one of the characters, even just seeing my own dog. I knew that I just had to locate that very special book.

So, using some of the excellent research tools at my disposal, I began to hunt down my book. An hour later, I located a record of it: The Christmas Dog by Jan M. Robinson, written in 1969, now out of print. I searched and searched through used books online until finally, I found a copy of my book for sale. Yesterday, it arrived. I didn't have time to read it or look at it very much then, so I put it on the table to admire later. Today, as I sat down to breakfast, I pulled out my book and opened it to glance through at the still-familiar illustrations I have not seen in over fifteen years. The inside cover gave me a tremendous shock:

Written in black ink are my initials. I don't know for certain if this is the same copy I once owned, but it is possible. Even if it isn't, it's still a remarkable coincidence. This book and I were meant to be together.

Ten Resolutions for 2010

In honor of this nice, fresh, unsullied decade, I'll be making ten resolutions this year. It's a tall order, but "where there is no vision, the people perish." (Proverbs 29:18, KJV) I know that many people look down on New Year's Resolutions, but that is largely because so many fall into the trap of making unattainable or unrealistic goals for themselves, which it is then only natural to break. I view making resolutions as an exercise in planning and goal-setting, which motivates me to ascend to higher standards in my daily life. So, without further ado, allow me to present my ten resolutions for 2010:

1. I resolve to earn straight A's in my graduate classes. Since C's are the same as F's in the history MA program, and B's are the equivalent of C's, I need top marks if I want any prestige at all. Also, I am determined to have two honor cords when I graduate with my MA: a Phi Alpha Theta cord (which I earned as an undergraduate) and a Magna Cum Laude or Summa Cum Laude cord.

2. I resolve to lose the appropriate amount of weight to make it into the ROTC program, and to attain the physique necessary to not only pass, but excel in the physical tests.

3. I resolve to actually read my graduate textbooks, rather than skimming like I usually did as an undergrad.

4. I resolve to spend more time in daily devotions, since I am horrible about reserving time for them on a daily basis.

5. While we're on the subject of time, I also resolve to improve my time management skills. I waste far too much time, so I am forcing myself to be more disciplined, and to live according to schedule.

6. I resolve not to fall into the same habit of procrastination that I had as an undergraduate. I am not going to put papers off until the night before they're due anymore - I'm too old for that level of stress!

7. I resolve to work harder on maintaining a five or six meal per day diet. My doctor has repeatedly told me that I need to do so, as my blood sugar is so low, particularly at night. I need to cut my portion sizes and eat more often, so that I keep my hypoglycemia under control. I do not want to wind up diabetic, like several of my relatives have.

8. I resolve to keep better hours and get enough sleep in grad school. No more all-night study sessions, like I did as an undergrad! Also, I will not fall into the habit of popping caffeine pills to make up for lack of sleep. I spent my last semester of college doing that, and it wrecked havoc on my migraines.

9. I resolve to make time for Jasper to have a walk at least every other day. Being a small dog, he does not require a great deal of exercise, but I know that I have not been giving him as many walks as I should. More walks will keep him happier and healthier, and I'm sure will serve as a good stress reliever for me.

10. I resolve to get more involved. As an undergrad, I studied and researched, and had absolutely no social life. I missed out on a lot of activities that would have been fun and/or meaningful, with the result that I often fell into periods of lonely melancholy. This time around, I'm going to force myself to go out at least once per month. I'm also going to look for a volunteer activity that I can devote a few hours to each month (I know that sounds shamefully small, but considering the amount of time-consuming graduate work I will have, a few hours a month is the most that I can give).

New Year's Eve Drops

I found this article amusing and thought I would share it here. Most of us are familiar with the big ball that drops on New Year's Eve, signaling the end of one year and the beginning of another. Much to my surprise (and delight), I learned tonight that many odd things also get dropped by cities. My person favorite is the city that drops an opossum (?!).

Click HERE to read the article.

There, now you have something interesting to share before you toast the new year tonight! ;0)

I Hear the Bells

Merry Christmas, everyone! In honor of my favorite holiday (which, unfortunately, I am sharing with an unwelcome migraine), I would like to share one of my favorite Christmas poems, written by one of my favorite poets, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He wrote this beautiful work during the Civil War. There are two more stanzas to it, but they are quite morose and pertain to the (at the time) ongoing war that had torn our nation in two. Since those two stanzas end the poem on a rather despairing note, I have chosen to omit them.

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Till ringing, singing on its way
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bowed my head
“There is no peace on earth,” I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.”

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men.”

Whenever I read this poem, it for some reason reminds me of an old story I heard long ago, about a church that had a magical set of bells, which would only ring when a person offered a gift of true meaning. Wealthy people came from all over to place gifts at the alter, hoping to hear the bells. They offered precious jewels, gold, and all manner of expensive items, but the bells stayed silent. Then a poor child came to the alter, with no present in his hands. He had nothing but his old, ragged coat, which he was wearing in a futile effort to keep out the cold. While people smirked at all that the boy lacked, he placed his coat on the alter. Suddenly, the bells sprang to life, ringing loudly for all the country to hear.

Two thousand years ago, an even more precious gift was given to the world. It didn't come wrapped in fancy paper from Macy's. It wasn't purchased from any store. It was the first gift of Christmas, the gift that started this whole beautiful celebration. That first gift of Christmas was the gift that truly keeps on giving, the infant Jesus Christ. I hope that today, somewhere between opening presents and eating colorful cookies, you can have a moment to remember that first gift of Christmas. And I hope that, if you haven't already, you can find room in your heart for Him.

Merry Christmas, everyone. And may you hear the bells today.