Evie, Part Two

Hardly anyone spoke throughout dinner.  The two strange gentlemen, Mr. Brant and Mr. Coakley asked the family general questions about their life, school, and so on.  There was nothing of substance to the conversation.  Father looked uneasy, especially since he had originally invited the two men to stay.  He looked like he much regretted his decision by the end of dinner. After they had finished he sent the children upstairs to Roger's room to get ready for bedtime.  He and Mr. Brant and Mr. Croakley went into the living room and spoke softly, but vigorously for almost an hour. Evie tried to eavesdrop from the top of the stairs, but they all spoke in such light voices that she couldn't make out any coherent sentences. She gradually moved down the steps as quietly as possible so as not to be heard. At last, she could make out what was being said. The two men seemed to be asking questions about a woman. Evie wondered if they could be talking about her mother, but that seemed too strange to be true. Or was it strange enough to be true? Were these men looking for her mother for some reason? Surely, her father was no help. He knew less about where she was than anybody else. Suddenly, Roger came around the corner and ruined her secrecy. "Evie!" he exclaimed. "Get up here, and help me with these blankets!" Evie jumped and hurried up the stairs. Convinced her father and the two strangers heard Roger, she shot him a piercing glare. The girls crawled into Roger's bed, and Roger made a pallet on the floor. Roger turned out the lamp, and darkness covered the room. Roger drifted off to sleep rather quickly. Rose didn't take much longer, either, but Evie did not sleep. She lay awake most of the night wondering what the two strangers had to do with her mother, and why they had come to their house.


The light had gone away, and the cave was dark when she awoke. There was no way to tell how long she had been asleep. Hours? Days? All that mattered at that moment was that she made it out of the city walls undetected, at least for now. She decided to wait until the sun came up to keep moving. She didn't know this area well enough to make her way in the dark. As she lied there waiting for dawn, she thought of her family and her home. She wanted nothing more than to be cooking dinner for her family right now. She swore to herself if she made it back, she would never leave again. She closed her eyes and imagined she was there sitting by the fireplace. While these happy thoughts danced in her mind, she drifted back to sleep. She only awoke when she felt someone grab her arm.

The Ladder

Life is short,
But the days are long.
When I look behind,
I see how far we've come.
When I look ahead,
I see we must go on.
The journey so far
Pales in comparison
To the journey ahead.
Or does it?
So many more rungs
We have to climb.
But do we really know
How far we must go?
Life is short,
But the days are long.

Memory Eternal!

Most everyone in the Orthodox communities of North America has heard by now that our beloved Metropolitan Philip has passed away. I saw news of his death on FaceBook last night and today. I keep seeing kind messages from all my Orthodox friends and family. Many of them brought me to tears. However, one message, which has been repeated by nearly everyone posting about the Metropolitan, has given me joy. Memory Eternal. We say it so often in regards to the ones who have departed, yet rarely have I stopped to think about the words themselves. How simple they are, but yet powerful and beautiful.
Memory. We have little, if anything, so valuable as our memories. When someone we love passes away, it is our memories that let us hold onto them. What a beautiful thing, and even more beautiful is that the Church recognizes the strength of our memories of a loved one. We can be comforted by our memories of our loved ones. We carry them with us in spirit through remembrance.
Now, take that beautiful memory and add eternity. May their memory be eternal! What a beautiful statement that is. Not only should we keep them in our memory, but we should do it forever. Forever. Seems impossible, but not to the Church in the name of the Trinity. We can remember our departed for eternity, and that is the most beautifully comforting thing I have ever heard. It is the best way to carry someone with you, eternally.
Two words have never had such a large effect on me so easily. I do not cry easily, nor often, but say those two words and it's like a waterfall. Memory Eternal. Individually those words are powerful. Together they are invincible. So, during this time of the passing of His Eminence Metropolitan Philip- to whom I am forever grateful and owe my life as an Orthodox Christian (as do countless others)- let us all be comforted and say, May thy  memory be eternal!

My Worst Day

Today, the 11th of October marks two months since the worst day. Two months since Lydia's passing. A few unexpected changes have occurred within those two months. Most of which were not easy, but they are nothing compared to the anguish I have felt over losing her. I am still in mourning, sometimes my emotions even get the better of me. I want nothing more in this world than to hold her again. I had her in my life for fourteen years. More than half my life. While I am forever grateful for so many years with her, I will never get over losing her. She was the sweetest, most gentle creature I have ever known. I am so blessed to have lived more than half my life as her person. On her last day, my mom told me she didn't wag her tail at all. Except for one moment. When I walked through my parents' front door to see her. For a few seconds she was happy. On her worst day when her body was failing her, and she was suffering, she was happy to see me. That is more precious to me than anything in the world. That moment makes me rejoice for the bond we shared. But it also made that night, and every night since then much more difficult. Having that bond and that moment with her is worth every tear and every second of pain. 

As I write this, I am wondering why. Usually, I don't express my feelings. I never express my feelings well, not in person. The only way I know how to express myself is through writing. I usually don't feel compelled to express myself, particularly not to many people, but I know I would never tell anyone how badly I hurt. So writing is my only sanctuary, my only tool to sort through my pain and remember.

I had thought frequently about how I would react if and when my mom told me my baby was in decline. I thought about what would happen if I was at work when I got the news and what I would do. Would I leave work early? Would I break down and cry? That Saturday night, August 10th, I was scheduled to close the bar. I didn't carry my phone on me at work. I usually left it in the office or on the shelves in the bar closet. It was about three hours after Mom messaged me that I saw it. It read, "Hey sweetheart, Lydia seems to be having a bad day. You may want to come by tomorrow, see what you think. Love you." I knew when I read it that I would be there immediately after work. Even if she was better when I arrived, I would sleep next to her all night. I would make sure she was okay. I called my mom immediately. She asked me to come over after work. I had already planned on it, but I knew when she asked me it was really serious. I had a feeling then that Lydia wouldn't make it through the night. I tried to go back to the bar and continue working, but I ended up alone sobbing in the bathroom. After a while, I told my best friend, who was the manager then, what was going on. My co-workers graciously helped me finish serving my last few tables, even though they didn't know what was going on. I didn't want to say it out loud. I didn't want to have to tell people that my baby was dying. I closed up the bar, dreading the next few hours, or rather the rest of my life.

I raced over to my parents house. As I walked through the door, Lydia wagged her tail. It was the first time that day. She wagged her tail almost nonstop her whole life. That was how Mom knew something was really wrong early in the day. That's how I know how much she loved me. She wagged her tail for me. She was laying near the door, so I got down next to her. After a few seconds of being with her, I knew we had to take her to the animal emergency clinic. My mom asked what I thought we should do. I said we couldn't let her continue to suffer. She was clearly in duress. So Mom went upstairs to get her shoes, and I laid next to Lydia, sobbing. I had just made the decision that would end her life. 

Oh, how that decision has haunted me. I hate saying it was the "right" thing to do. I believe in the sanctity of life, so I don't wholly agree that it was right. I do know it was necessary. She depended on me. I couldn't let her continue to suffer or to die in pain. However, I will be haunted by that decision forever. I set in motion the events that led to her death. And I will never forgive myself. That is the price I pay for having the best dog ever. She is worth every moment of hating myself. Every moment that I am angry with myself for that night, for telling the vet I was ready when I really wasn't, for sitting there while she injected my baby, and knowing that I'll never forgive myself is worth being Lydia's person. 

I carried her to the car. She couldn't walk on her own. So I carried her, laid her in the back seat. My mom drove us to the emergency clinic while I called them to say we were coming. She hadn't gone outside to pee all day. I think she was scared in the car or maybe she just couldn't hold it any longer because that's where she peed for the last time. I didn't mind. I just sat next to her, trying to comfort her. I carried her inside, until a technician took her from me. We filled out some forms while they whisked her away to see what was wrong. Sitting there talking to the nurse about our options and waiting to see her again felt like the worst eternity. Finally we were led to a room where they brought her to us to say good-bye. Mom and I sobbed the entire time we were there. We laid down on the floor on each side of her. Mom sang to her. I petted her head and wept. The doctor told us she was in heart failure. Her lungs were filling up with fluid. I could even see the fluid dripping from her nose. She looked so miserable. My heart broke to see her like that, especially since I couldn't make it better. I could only end it. The doctor told us she would wait until we were ready. Mom looked at me and asked if I was. I said "I'm ready." I knew I wasn't, but it would have been selfish to wait any longer. And it certainly wouldn't make this any easier. Mom continued to sing to her. I barely remember what I was doing, besides crying. I'm sure i was petting her. I don't remember if I sang along or not. I know that I was staring at her face. Lydia was looking from Mom to me and back again. As the doctor injected her, it was like she went to sleep. After a few moments the doctor whispered that she was gone. Then she told us Lydia must have known how much we loved her. I hope she did. I hope somehow she knew that I would have given everything I own if it would have made her well. 

After we asked to take the body home with us, Mom went to pay, and I stayed in the room with her. A nurse came in and carried her away. That was the last time I saw her. They made paw prints for us, one of which hangs on my wall next to my Icons above my bed. I see it every time I say morning prayers. They wrapped her in a cloth and taped it closed. They wrote her name on it, and drew a cross next to her name. I'm glad for that. That meant so much to me. They brought her out to me while Mom was still paying. I pulled the car up, and helped put her in the back seat again. The staff must have felt badly for us, they charged us less than their standard examination fee when it should've been more. Mom drove us home while I sat next to Lydia in the back seat. I carried her body to our back porch where she stayed until we could bury her. 

Shortly after coming home, her sister Beauty woke up. She had been asleep when we left, so she didn't know her sister was gone. I petted Beauty for awhile, and then laid down on the couch. I've never been so tired in my life. It was about three in the morning now. Mom slept on a futon on the floor of the living room and I slept on the couch. When I awoke in the morning, my dad had already dug a hole in the backyard for her grave. Mom and I stayed home from church. I went out to the back porch and sat near her body while I called my best friend to tell her what happened. I called out of work as well. (The perks of your best friend being the manager.) My dad and brother came home, and my sister-in-law brought some lunch over as well as sunflowers. We all went in the back yard and buried her. We prayed over her, I think. We each poured some dirt on top of her as is the Orthodox tradition. And there it was. She was gone. She was really gone. It was the worst day. I am grateful to my family for comforting me, helping me, crying with me. It was my worst day. I am grateful to all my friends who comforted me, to my 3 best friends in particular, Courtney, Raven, and Sophie for being so loving and gracious.

One of the most difficult parts was seeing Beauty wander around the house that morning looking for her sister. They were literally sisters and lifelong companions. They were best friends. I think Monday night when i was at my parents house again was when Beauty realized her sister was truly gone. She was lying in the living room looking at the stairs as if she was waiting to see Lydia appear and come down. Then Beauty began to whimper and cry. That broke my heart again, if that's even possible. I sat with her and petted her while she mourned. And she comforted me, too. She licked my hand, and laid her head on my lap, and we cried together.  

I think of Lydia many times every day. Sometimes I still cry for her. I whisper to myself that I want my baby. She will always be my baby. I called her that and she would always respond. She knew she was mine and I was hers. I remember how she would lay at my feet when I sat on the couch. When you pet her, she nudges closer to you until she can't get any closer. Then she would slip to the floor and wait for a belly rub. She would wag her tail so hard against the wall or the ground when she was excited that it sounded like a hammer. She slept on any soft furniture she could get her paws on. She had her particular chair that she loved more than any other piece of furniture. It was Lydia's chair. It is Lydia's chair. Every time I look at that chair, I picture her laying in it. It's been harder to go to my parent's house since that day. Knowing she won't be there when I open the door is still a horrible feeling. Every time there's a part of me that hopes I'll open door and she'll be there to greet me. Every time it hurts that she isn't. 

I think as time passes my grief will become more manageable. Maybe one day I'll be able to get another dog. But for now, I am just heartbroken. It's a fact. I'm heartbroken without her.

Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time

Merry Christmas to all! This year I have had such a lovely, wonderful Christmas.  I received a new cross that is smaller than my other cross and I can wear it daily.  I'm very excited about it.  I think one of my favorite gifts is my Beatles blanket that my fantastic mom surprised me with.

It's been such a great day. First going to Christmas Liturgy and hearing my brothers chant the service.  Then we all had a feast together while opening presents.  The tree was overflowing with presents.

I even got to see friends and family last Wednesday, and God willing, I will be able to see even more this week! And I took a good picture of Mimi and Granddaddy in their new scarves. They loved them.  Granddaddy was especially happy that his scarf would match his nice jacket. 

I hope everyone had as blessed a Christmas as I did!

Christ is born! Glorify Him!

That's Why I Say Thanks Every Day

So today I have been listening to a song from Veggie Tales. It's from the Madame Blueberry episode and it's called the Thankfulness Song. It's probably my favorite Veggie Tales song.  It made me think about how so many of us live today without being truly thankful.  I know I do.  It's a struggle for me to remember that when I can't find the right shoes or I want more clothes that I have plenty of clothes and clean clothes, too.  Just a few blocks away from my house is our community center and homeless shelter, and what a strong reminder that is to be thankful! But it's also much easier to be thankful for the good things like having clean clothes and food and a comfortable home to live in.  It's really hard to be thankful for the difficult things that happen.  Like in the song, the kids are thankful despite their families being poor because they can spend time with their families, which is more important to them than material goods.  I think we should all look to the kids singing this song and be a little more thankful for all that we have.  Because, as we all know from this song, a thankful heart is a happy heart.  I always feel more peaceful and content with the world when I'm thankful for everything I have.
A big family, my mom and dad, a comfortable home, nice clothes, plenty of shoes, a well-paying job, the opportunity to go to school, my dogs, my friends, a nice church, books to read, movies to watch with my brother, plenty of food, being able to save up for a new car, for a God who really cares, for His love for us.
That's why I say thanks every day.

Evie, Part One

She had been running for what felt like ages. Her entire body ached, her heart pounded, and her head throbbed from exhaustion.  But she couldn't stop. She wouldn't stop.  Suddenly, a tiny light appeared ahead of her.  It seemed a great distance between her and the light, and for a few minutes it did not get any closer.  She felt her feet begin to stumble. Slowing her pace she corrected her steps and sped up again.  The light began getting closer and bigger.  She had never wanted anything more in her life than to stand in the light. She was running harder than ever.  Faster and faster, until finally she was immersed in a blinding light.  All her exhaustion and hurt melted away, and she was never happier than in that moment.  But then the moment passed and the fatigue and pain came storming back to her.  She collapsed into a pile on the ground.  She couldn't move, even breathing hurt.  She tried to lie still to ease the pain, but that hurt, too.  All she felt was pain.  All she wanted was to be in a warm bed, and to sleep for days.  However, all her effort, all that running, was in vain.  In her fragile state, she had forgotten, even only for a few moments, of what she was running from.  Suddenly she remembered, and picking herself up was the hardest thing she ever had to do.  But she did it, and kept on going.  Soon she found a shelter hewn out of the rock and decided to stay there for a while.  She didn't dare light a fire, but she was safe enough to get some sleep. She laid down beside a large rock in order to sufficiently hide herself from onlookers.  For many minutes she laid awake, trying to keep herself alert despite her exhaustion.  Eventually her eye lids became too heavy and an unrestful sleep overcame her.

On a bright and sunny day, a small child played with her big sister in a field near their home.  A home that they shared with their father and older brother.  Her mother left about a year before, and they never really knew what had become of her.  It was certainly an uncommon thing to happen in those parts, but it happened nonetheless.  At first they thought she may have been kidnapped or killed, that is until the letter came.  They had received a letter from her just a few weeks after she disappeared.  It said that she wanted to travel the world and be more than just a farmer's wife.  She wanted adventure and excitement.  Father wouldn't even finish reading the letter. He stopped after she said she wanted to travel, and then he worked outside for the rest of the day. He talked about her seldom, and never very lovingly.  It made Evie wonder if her mother hadn't left for good reason.  Her father was not a mean man, but he was not a kind man either.  He was cold and stiff, but virtuous and always provided for his family.  Evie loved her father, but he was not someone that she wanted to stay with forever.   

Evie was laying in the field looking up at the sky while her sister Rose played with the dandelions.  Rose was a particularly peculiar child.  She was immensely smart and had a wild imagination.  Evie, who was quite smart herself, but maybe not as smart as Rose, had a sensible perspective on life.  She did not have the vivid imagination that belonged to her sister.  She was more practical and realistic.  Their older brother, Roger, was stern and stoic.  He always followed the rules no matter what, and he never played silly games.  He was a kind-natured boy, but never really had any fun.  His mother left to have fun, so what use could it be?  

Evie and Rose spent most of their time together.  They had become quite close over the last year, helping each other cope with their loss.  Rose had always hoped they could venture out and find her someday.  Evie was less enthusiastic about this idea.  They never even mentioned it to Roger or their father.  But often in their field they would talk about what it would be like to see her again, and where she might be or what she might be doing.  Today they were doing just that.  "I wonder if she's famous somewhere," Rose said while picking the dandelions.  "I bet these would look nice in a big house where she lives."

"I doubt she has a big house.  And she's not famous.  We certainly would have heard something about her if she was," Evie explained.  "Besides, she has nothing to live on."

"I'm sure she has something.  She can't just be sleeping anywhere with nowhere to live."

"Well, maybe she is.  We'll probably never know."

"Oh, we'll find her one day.  And then we'll know."

"All right, sure." 

Evie struggled to not make her sister sad, but also to not get her hopes up.  She wanted to have hope, too, but she couldn't imagine that she'd ever see her mother again.  Or that she even wanted to see her again.

Before she realized it, two figures were walking towards the sisters through the field.  They moved smoothly and swiftly, almost gliding, and were odd-looking.  One was quite tall and lanky, and the other was short and stout.  They wore dark shabby clothes and each carried in one hand a strange hat.  Evie had never seen hats like these, and she couldn't figure out where these men had come from.  She was frightened, but did not want to scare Rose, so she remained calm.  

"Excuse me," said the short man with a high-pitched voice.  "Where might we find a place to stay around here?"

"Oh, um..." Evie hesitated.  "I'm...I'm not exactly sure.  I think there's a place about 10 miles south. Or southeast.  I'm not entirely sure of it's location."

"Nothing closer than that?" the short man asked.

"No, I don't think so," Evie replied.

"Is your father at home?" the taller man asked in a grumbly voice.

"Um...uh, yes, I...yes, he is."

"May we speak with him then? Maybe he can give us better direction," the taller man said.  There was something about these men that made Evie uneasy.  She couldn't quite tell what it was. Maybe their strange appearance, or maybe their greasy manners, or maybe even the fact that they had no problem approaching two young girls in the middle of nowhere.  

"Certainly," Evie glanced at Rose uneasily.  "You can follow me. C'mon, Rose."

The two men followed Evie back to her house, which was a good 7 or 8 minute walk from the field.  No one said a word on the way, although Evie wanted to say something to break the awkwardness, but she didn't. She was too afraid.  Finally they reached the house.  She called out to her father and sent Rose inside to her room.  Her father came outside and greeted the men with obvious unease.  He gave them directions to an inn, but they continued to talk for several minutes.  Evie wished she could hear what was being said.  She barely noticed her brother walk out onto the porch.  She even jumped when he asked what was going on.  

"You startled me," she exclaimed.  "I guess these two men are lost or on a journey or something.  They need a place to stay."

"Certainly don't like the looks of them. Where do they come from?"

"I'm not sure, but I don't like them either."

"Can't be too careful these days."

"Yeah. Maybe they're..."

"Let's not speculate.  Let's just send them on their way and forget about it."

But their father was not sending them on their way.  In fact it seemed more like he was inviting them to stay.  "Children, these men are going to stay with us tonight.  Go and get dinner ready.  Evie, you and Rose will have to give up your room.  You can sleep in Roger's room on the floor.  Mr. Coakley," he gestured to the tall man, "and Mr. Brant are welcome to stay with us as long as they need to."

It was very unlike their father to invite guests over, especially strangers, but Evie did not argue.  She quietly went inside to fix dinner, feeling nervous as ever.  

May Their Memories Be Eternal

It seems ages ago that the two towers fell on 9/11, but then again, it seems hardly any time has passed at all.  It sounds weird to say it was 10 years ago.  What a long time, and yet what a short time. That's not even half of my life.
I had just turned twelve in 2001, just a few days before 9/11.  I remember being in school already sitting in choir when people started talking about it, starting say that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. As a twelve year old, I didn't know what that was or where it was, but it sounded important. I remember thinking to myself what a weird thing to happen. So far it sounded like an accident from what people around school were saying, but it didn't seem like such a thing could happen on accident. Then we left choir and I headed to French class. We did not study French that day. The TV was on and immediately I saw what was going on.  "ATTACK ON AMERICA" was the headline in enormous letters across the bottom of the screen.  I was horrified.  We watched the news all throughout class and witnessed the second plane hitting the second tower, we watched the anchors tell us about the plane that hit the Pentagon, and the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania due to the bravery of its passengers.
Now of course only being in middle school, when my classmates and I saw "ATTACK ON AMERICA" we assumed it could be an attack everywhere.  We were scared it would hit other parts of the country, and maybe even our region or city.  My french teacher, who was a wonderful lady, Mme. Milstead, assured us that we not get hit. "Nashville would only be a target if the people who did this really hated country music." I gasped, and she laughed.  Then I realized it was only a joke to make a point, that we were fine.
But the people in the planes, in the towers, on the streets of New York, in the Pentagon, the police officers and firefighters were not fine.  I can't imagine what it was like being there dealing with the dust and debris and bodies that littered the streets, trying to save everyone possible.
My cousin, Stepha, in her blog Life of Fiction, wrote about 9/11 too. She mentioned that she feels like God was with those people that day.  And that she doesn't know how, but it comforts her to think that.  I watched a show the other day about two port authority employees who saved about 70 people as they descended the North Tower, but were killed when the tower collapsed.  That shows me that God was with them that day.  On ESPN they were talking about a young man who worked in the towers (but who wanted instead to become a firefighter) and how he saved 12 people before dying himself.  They were able to find his body because he always carried a red bandana and the people he saved remembered his red bandana. His family knew what he did because of that bandana.  God was with him that day.
As you can imagine watching those shows, I wept until I could barely see.  Watching the towers fall is an image that I will never forget.  Who knew I could still cry for complete strangers ten years later.
Shortly after the attacks on 9/11, a family friend who lives in New York sent us an email telling her story of 9/11.  She worked near the WTC and was out on the street when one of the towers fell.  She was thrust into a cloud of dust and debris, no way to see anything.  But she guided herself along a building until she found a door and she burst through, coughing up debris and dust as she sucked in clean air.  All I could think while reading her email was how frightening it must have been.  After a few hours she made it to a friends to clean up and eventually made it back home to her boyfriend.  Obviously, she was one of the lucky ones.
So on this the 10th anniversary of the attacks on 9/11 I remember and pray for those who died, those who survived, those who were lucky, those who weren't, and especially those who fought to save others- the first responders and the employees who helped their coworkers at the cost of their own life.  I remember the passengers on Flight 93 who so bravely fought the hijackers and gave their lives for it, and for those who died in the Pentagon attack as well.  May their memories be eternal and I pray that they are now with God where they will suffer no more.

Please, Please Me...

So I've been lazy and missed a couple of Fridays' worth of posts. But I'm back now, and I'll begin with a couple songs from Please Please Me, which was the Beatles debut album.

The first song is the title track, "Please Please Me". Written by John Lennon, the song was an hommage to Roy Orbison. It was released on March 22, 1963. I love this live version I found.

The second song is from the same album, and it's called "PS I Love You". It was written by Paul McCartney and first released on the B side of "Love Me Do". What an adorable song!

My third and final song of the day is one from a later album of the Beatles. "Eight Days a Week" is the eighth track on their album Beatles for Sale, which was released on December 4th, 1964. It is a Lennon-McCartney creation and was their No. 7 hit in the US within a year. I've known this song for as long as I can remember and I completely adore it.

"I See the Light"

It's certainly no secret that I absolutely love Disney movies. Pretty much everyone who knows me knows that Beauty and the Beast is my favorite movie of all time. I have watched it so many times that I can recite the words to the entire movie while watching it. Disney movies are always my feel good, pick me up movies and they make me feel all warm and safe. That is until the credits start rolling and I come back into reality. That's when I start to feel the ache. Not a physical ache, but a mental or emotional ache. It's a longing for something exciting, some adventure where my moral stamina and resourcefulness are put to the test. An adventure where I meet a dashing young man who seems different from me at first, but actually complements me perfectly. A young man that I will fall in love with and he would love me, too.

I know it seems overly romantic, but I want something exciting to happen and I want to fall in love. Why not have them together? It could happen, right?

I will say most of the time I don't have that longing feeling. Only every now and then will it creep up on me, and then I'm sent into a whirlwind of emotion about how I want to be in love, and will I ever have someone to love me and hold me? I have never really been in love, and I try to wait for that patiently. My priest told me once not to worry about dating or trying to have a relationship, and that God will provide. I wholeheartedly agree with that. I'm not out trying to find someone, I'm not running around desperately trying to meet guys and date everyone who comes my way. But I can't help wondering when I will meet my dashing young man. Sometimes I even ask myself if I will ever meet him.

Oddly enough my grandparents are the two people who are most concerned about me getting married. Every time I talk to them they ask if have a boyfriend, and as usual I respond "no". Then they tell me that they'll look around and sometimes they even want me to meet someone. I think they've sort of given up on the idea that I will get married soon because my grandmother has a set of silver that she wants to give to me when I get married. She has always said that it will be my wedding gift and there's even a note inside that says so. But one day when I was about 18 or 19 she mentioned that the silver would be my wedding gift, and then she followed that statement with something I had never heard before. She added, "Or you can have it whenever you want." Ouch. I guess she meant she's not confident she'll be at my wedding, which I certainly won't think about either.

There's a song in Tangled, my newest Disney obsession, called "I See the Light" and it's my favorite. It's where Rapunzel and Flynn realize they love each other and it's super adorable and romantic. I guess I just want to "see the light" and I'm hoping it comes sooner rather than later. But all I can do is wait patiently. And that's the worst part. Waiting. Waiting for my Flynn Rider, so to speak. Until then, I'll just have to do what I can to shake this dreary feeling, and remember all the good things I have.

This One's a Fiver...

Yep, that's right we're doing five songs today. Plus a bonus video! So I guess 6. It's a sixer. Okay, let's get to it.

The first video is a song I only recently discovered. It's called "Something" and it was written by George Harrison. It is his one of his best songs and is the second most covered Beatles' song next to "Yesterday". It is from their Abbey Road album, which was their last that they recorded together, even though Let it Be was released after Abbey Road. Anyway, it's a beautiful song and I absolutely adore it.

This next song, "I Wanna Be Your Man" was released on the album With the Beatles in 1963. It is sung by Ringo, and it's a helluva good time. This version is a live version from Paris. Oh to see them live, what a wonderful notion.

Up next, "Drive My Car". A song that I grew up listening to and have always loved. It's so fun. It was recorded and released for their 1965 album Rubber Soul.

Another song from Abbey Road, "Come Together" has been one of those songs I've always known. I can't even remember the first time I heard it. Still, I love it just the same.

The song "Blackbird" has always been very special to me. My stepdad played it for me on his guitar frequently enough that eventually I asked him to play it every time I saw him with his guitar. I love this song, of course. It was part of The White Album released in 1968, and I can never hear it enough.

Drum roll, please, Ringo!! My special bonus video is one of my favorite songs by The Beatles, and is a live version from Shea Stadium in New York in 1965. The song was released on their album Help! in 1965 and I think it's so fun. Even though the lyrics aren't very fun, the melody and their enthusiasm makes it a great time to listen to this song, and watch them play it. It's called "I'm Down" and I've posted it before, but I love this version. With Paul screaming all over the place and John and George laughing so much they can barely sing, it's great.

I hope you enjoyed all the videos and songs! Good night and God bless!

One part Beatles, One Part Rainboots

So I have definitely slacked off in my weekly appreciate The Beatles posts. So here's a small one to get back into the routine.

I adore this one. And I adore Paul and his goofy sense of humor.

Another great, lesser known one.

Another thing on my mind is my new J.Crew rainboots! They arrived Wednesday and I have been anxiously and eagerly awaiting some rain so that I can wear them. They are bright red and beautiful! I adore them!

(Photo Credit: J.Crew)

Another great thing about my new boots, they have a zipper that goes all the way down the back, so they're super easy to get on and off. Wonderful! And they fit like a dream. I couldn't love them more!

Goodnight and God bless,

Bella

Part 4

Once again it's Friday, and it's time for my weekly Beatles appreciation day. So let's get right to it this time. Today I'm doing some of their earlier songs with some of their later songs. Enjoy!

"What filthy ways are these?"

Love this movie!

Becoming a Writer

So I just watched a Lifetime movie (and I'm not ashamed at all) about the life of J.K. Rowling and her long journey towards becoming a published writer, and might I add an incredibly successful published writer. It was an adorable movie that brought out all my feelings about the one thing I want to do in my lifetime. Be a writer. No, no, that's not it. Be a published writer. Every moment of every day I am, I guess I would say, "narrating" everything that is happening around me, as if I was writing a book. I create stories in my head of why things are happening or why people do what they do. Someone flicking a cigarette on the ground becomes a tale of why they began smoking, and what happens to that cigarette butt after they've flicked it out of their hands, who passes by it, steps on it, etc. A boy and a girl walking down the street becomes a story of their relationship, how they met, how they feel about each other, and whether they'll end up estranged from one another, married, or maybe, if I'm in a tragedy mood, how one of them will die young. I even have a scene in my head, that I should probably write down somewhere (even though it's a rough sketch) about a young woman playing with her baby, except she's crying because something horrible has happened to the man she loves.

Even just now I looked down at my snoring, sleeping dog, and watching her I began to formulate a story about a girl who's closest companion is her dog and they'll have wonderful adventures. And that's where my problem begins. I think of a story and the moment I try to come up with all the details it scatters and becomes so jumbled in my thoughts that I can hardly begin to write it.

I think of all the great authors I love, J.K. Rowling, J.R.R. Tolkien, C.S. Lewis (ha, I could be C.S. Herron), Jane Austen (and of course the list goes on and on), and I want so badly to be able to do what they did. To write wonderful stories and bring such beloved characters into the world. But I have to refine myself, refine my work and control it, which I am not very good at yet. It sounds weird, but I also have to let it free, let the creativity flow through my pen. Yes, I write all my stories, not type them. I have a massive load of journals with unfinished stories. They are unfinished and unread. There was a part in the movie about J.K. Rowling when she was teenager and applying to college, and her friend told her that if she wanted to be a writer she had to let someone read her work and she said no one could read her stuff because she hadn't written anything that came to life yet. That's exactly how I feel. I feel mundane about all my ideas so far. Nothing has really spoken to me...yet. I hope very soon that I can produce something good. Something really good.

Fridays are my favorite.

My adoration and appreciation of The Beatles continues with my weekly posting of their songs. This time I'm mixing a couple of their more well-known songs with a couple of their lesser well-known songs. Hope you enjoy!

Of course the always fun "Twist n Shout".

I love this one a lot. This is one of my favorite parts of Help! It's so great.

I love that Ringo is singing this one. Love these boys!

The Beatles Friday

Yay, it's here again! My favorite day of the week- Friday (and not just because I get to post Beatles' songs today). I've been looking forward to this post since last Friday. I even wrote down which songs I would choose to post for the next 5 weeks. A bit over-the-top? Yes it is. All right, let's get on with it.

This first one is a suggestion from a dear friend, Beth Hopkins. I hadn't heard this song before she sent me the link and I absolutely love it. It's so fun! Well, the tune is fun, but the lyrics are actually pretty sad. Still, the boys make it fun, so we'll have a good time anyways.

This next one (yes, I'm posting more than one this time because I couldn't choose) is one of my favorites to watch. They must have been so amazing to see live. I can only dream.

This third one is from their movie "Help!" It's a great song and the video is super fun. Also, I would give my right eyebrow to be that girl in Paul's arms.

Last, but not least, another suggestion from dear Beth. Thanks, Beth!

Happy Listening!

A Few More of My Favorite Things

After a long day at work, with another long day of work ahead of me tomorrow, it's nice to think I can escape for a few moments before I go to sleep with a look at some of my favorite things.

Certainly these handsome young lads always make me smile.

Especially Paul...he's my favorite. <3

What a great smile.

Speaking of the 60's, I love bold graphic patterns like the one on this sofa.

How very mod.

One of my favorite stores- Anthropologie. A lovely, unique place with clothes that are way too expensive for me. But I still look at their items online and covet almost everything I see.

And of course...

Red.

Happy Sunday! And God bless!

The Beatles Fridays

So I've decided to start something new on my blog. It will be a weekly dedication to arguably the most talented group of guys ever, and naturally my favorite band- The Beatles.

I've always liked The Beatles, even as a young child my brothers and I would play their songs and pretend to be them while singing along. Only recently did I realize how much I like them, that in fact I would consider them my favorites. For awhile I never had an answer to the question "who's your favorite band?" because I like a lot of different music, but the one constant through my life (in regards to music) is The Beatles. Of course, everyone likes The Beatles, and knows they're most famous songs, but I'd like to think my appreciation goes beyond that, especially since I probably have more of their songs in my itunes than anything else.

So here's to the Fab Four. (This has to be one of my favorite songs by them. Also my favorite movie they've made.)

Friendship Dance

So I've been dancing around this topic for a few days now, trying to decide how to write about my experience the other morning when I went to a "friendship dance" at the ESY (Extended School Year) for kids with Autism and Asperger's. What I've been struggling with most while trying to write is how to tell my story without boasting about what I did. So here it goes, I'm finally giving it a shot. I guess we'll just have to see how this turns out.

First, a little background. My mom is a special education teacher at one of the county high schools and every summer since we moved to Chattanooga she had taught at ESY Autism and Asperger's. Each summer they have a "friendship dance" where the kids, who are middle school and high school aged, are encouraged to socialize and interact with new people. And since most of the students are boys, the teachers try to get more girls to come, which is helpful for the students to talk to new people and learn how to deal with new situations. I went a couple years ago, but for some reason this time seemed more rewarding personally and had more of an impact on me.

Now let me also say that I was not looking forward to waking up somewhat early to go dance awkwardly for an hour and a half. But my mom asked me to come and I certainly wasn't going to say no. It wasn't that I didn't want to go, but I just didn't want to wake up early. I'm not a morning person in any way and I loathe waking up before 10:00am. But I made myself get up a little before 8 and get ready to be at the school by 9am. When I arrived my mom came out to meet me in the parking lot and I followed her to her classroom where she introduced me to all the students before I went to the cafeteria and waited on everyone to arrive.

I have to admit Autism is very interesting to me because of how varied the symptoms are. Some of the kids were more talkative, some hardly spoke. Some were excited to dance, while other were nervous or even distraught by the idea. Some danced quite well and knew most of the songs, while others seemed more awkward and less connected to their surroundings. It was interesting to see how everyone was so different. During the first few songs I was "dancing" (and by that I mean kind of swaying back forth) near my mom and she pointed out a boy named Michael to me and asked if I would go ask him to dance. She said he be very polite, but probably say no. She said she wanted me to ask him anyway so he could have some interaction. I guess he was very shy and no one was very confident that he would dance at all. So a few songs later, she motioned towards him with her head and I walked over and asked if he would like to dance. "Um, no thank you, but you can ask me later," was his very polite answer.

Eventually the teachers formed a soul train line and got everyone up to dance. Even Michael went through a couple times. Afterwards he was standing nearby when I was dancing with another student so I told him to join us. He walked over and began dancing with us. I made eye contact with my mom and smiled. A few more songs played and I sat down beside him at a table. Then I said, "Well, you said I could ask you later, and now it's later. Would you like to dance?" Michael Jackson's thriller was playing so we talked a little about the steps to the dance for Thriller and then we got up and joined my mom for the rest of the song. And for the next 3 or 4 songs he stayed and danced with me. He was such a sweet kid, it was joy to talk with him and play air guitar, which was his favorite move. After the dance ended I said my goodbyes and went home. After I got home my mom called me and told me Michael told her he had a really good time. He said to thank me three times because I really boosted his confidence. I was really touched. I was definitely tearing up on my drive home even before I heard this. I was amazed at how wonderfully sweet Michael is and was to me. I always think of these kids as needing special attention and help and how much we can help them, but when I spent time with him, I was taken aback by how much he gave to me in return. He feels like I boosted his confidence, and I feel like he boosted mine. He helped me find that person inside of me that can be good to anyone and everyone, that person who gets lost throughout my daily life that I fill with stressful moments and complaining because someone in the car in front of me isn't going fast enough. It had been awhile since someone really brought that person back to me, and I'm so grateful to Michael for bringing that out of me. Really all the kids reminded me that I need to hold onto to that better person that I know I can be, and that I should remember that more often, and be that person even when I don't want to.

Summer Projects

This summer has brought new challenges for me. With my brother getting married I am out of a roommate (but I'd much rather have a new sister than a roommate), so now I have to go searching for a new roomie and a new apartment. While I'm doing this, I am staying with my parents. It's a tight fit, and all my stuff is in boxes (some in storage too), but at least this gives me a chance to save up money and it gives me some time to redo my furniture. When I moved into my last apartment the walls were stark white and there was no chance of painting them, so I went with blue and cream as my color scheme. I painted my dresser a light turquoise and off-white. It was a very funky look. Also, I painted my formerly wood-stained bed frame off-white. Clearly I did not think my color scheme through very well because the whole time I lived there I was yearning for something red. Yes, red is my favorite color. Now, I don't fully agree with that statement because I really love all the colors. My "color of the moment" as I like to call it, changes frequently, but my constant go-to, must-have color is red. I adore red. Unfortunately there was no red in my room at my apartment. What was I thinking?! I was trying to do something different, but somethings will always stay the same. So with new prospects ahead of me I decided I would take some time to redo my furniture in a scheme that is more suiting to me. Meaning, I'm adding a splash of red.

First is my dresser. I've been thinking of redoing it for a long time and I have finally come up with 3 options.

Option 1: I will paint it white and cover it in old sheet music. This would be the most time- consuming, and was my original idea.

Option 2: Instead of covering the entire dresser in sheet music, I would paint the outside white and cover only the drawer fronts. This would be a less busy design and give more freedom to the other colors I use in my room.

Option 3: A far cry from the above ideas, my third is to paint my dresser white and do a nautical design. (I found these pillows on Etsy, and they are perfect for a nautical theme.)

Maybe I'll paint my new drawer pulls red or blue, or add an anchor print to the drawer fronts. We'll see, this idea is still in the works.

Now for the hardest part, choosing which one to do. I did go to the store today and bought some new brushes, white paint, drop cloth, and...red spray paint! Yes, lots of red spray paint, which will be used for another project in the not-too-distant-future. Stay tuned for updates on my projects for my "new" furniture!