At last! I'm going to be in NHS!
When I opened the letter and read the first line, I laughed. Now that I'm a senior who has already applied for admission and scholarships to college, I'm going to receive NHS designation. I've lost weight, sleep, a little sanity and a lot of peace of mind--but I'm going to be in National Honor Society.
What a dreadful two paragraphs I just typed. I suppose there's a cynic in everyone. Now that I've gotten that out of my system, I'll make some statements heralding gratitude. I do believe that NHS is as silly as GT, but there are obvious benefits to this. I'll be reapplying for financial aid every year, so having NHS on my application will probably end up being beneficial. It might help if I miraculously go to grad school, too. And what's cool is that I'll get the designation without having all the NHS stress crap that the other kids have had to deal with over the years. Not very fair to them, I guess. But even if it didn't go on my initial applications and things, I'm glad I didn't have to keep up with hours and do Mrs. Silman's bidding all the time; I like volunteering, but not the kind of things NHS often requires.
And Mom's finally happy. If I could just end up in the top %10, I think I could effectively say I've conquered High School. Well, not really. But for me, you know.
That's so funny. People think I'm smart because I've been killing myself over homework this year, people think I'm really good at math because I'm in Calculus, and people will think I'm honorable because I'm in NHS. Oo-hoo-hoo have I fooled them!
I'd just like to show the world that people are not intelligent because they do their homework. I'd like the world to see that grades do not indicate intellect or enthusiasm and that people and their respective talents are not numbers.
I like to think that I'm at least a little intelligent, that I've gotten better at math, and that I do have a personal sense of honor. But it isn't because I make good grades or got admitted to some organization.
I'd kind of like to note at the end of my list of accomplishments that I've failed classes before. That I once made a habit of it, in fact. Of course I won't do that, but really, all the failure was an accomplishment, too.
I don't know when exactly people started seeing me as a 'good' kid. This past year people have made comments to the effect of my being an overachiever, etc, and they're always shocked when I tell them that I've failed classes before.
Yes, I am grateful and I do appreciate the benefits of 'achievement', and I understand the necessity of such systems... but I feel like a pretender lately when I get report cards full of high 90's. I'm making much higher grades, but I haven't necessarily learned more. I have read a lot less, which I find very saddening.
I apologize for the cynicism and any other negative sentiments found within this post. I just wanted to express it and I didn't want to do that at school (we are not at all short on cynicism there). The ideas and issues I've raised haven't been fully explored; there are distinct gaps in my reasoning. This is just how I feel for the moment. It really is nice of them to invite me to NHS. It's just silly, is all. It's just so silly that I couldn't pass up the commentary.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Meant
I've been thinking lately... and I think I can bear my own sadness, but not the sadness of others. But I must try. I must always try.
Everyone has a personal moral code. Not just moral beliefs that come from whatever religion an individual follows or beliefs that come from an individual's family and environment, but also beliefs that the individual has developed personally on the way.
I can't make anyone happy. Happiness is a decision made by the person him or herself.
Mom tells me not to be responsible for other people's feelings.
But it's part of my code. I cannot ignore another person's sadness. If there is anything in my power to help a sad person, I feel compelled to try it, even when--or perhaps especially if--the situation seems hopeless.
You can't deny a code.
This is an extremely painful business. At the moment, I am not at an equilibrium; I am not doing much to help others, and I'm certainly not helping myself.
I was thinking about it, and I realized that there are two choices. 1) to keep trying and get stronger 2) to be a coward.
I don't have pride or honor issues, but the second choice isn't much of an option... it means not especially caring about how other people feel. Even if I could do that, I don't think it would help me much. So really this just means that I have to get stronger.
I think I can still follow my code if I learn to empathize with people and care about their pain without internalizing it and making it my own. I can only do what I can. If I can remember those things, I think I could do more good than I'm doing now.
I've also been thinking a lot lately about things being meant to happen. I might have called that fate, but I don't believe it's fate; fate implies a lack of individual decision, which I do think happens.
I don't seem to be able to express myself very clearly lately.
In the song "All You Need is Love," there is a lyric that goes like this: "There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be."
That's what I mean to say. I've been thinking about that a lot lately. It doesn't really matter what I do because everything that's happening is exactly what's supposed to be happening and I am exactly who I'm meant to be and God is the one who's doing everything anyway, so I don't actually have anything to worry about.
Everyone has a personal moral code. Not just moral beliefs that come from whatever religion an individual follows or beliefs that come from an individual's family and environment, but also beliefs that the individual has developed personally on the way.
I can't make anyone happy. Happiness is a decision made by the person him or herself.
Mom tells me not to be responsible for other people's feelings.
But it's part of my code. I cannot ignore another person's sadness. If there is anything in my power to help a sad person, I feel compelled to try it, even when--or perhaps especially if--the situation seems hopeless.
You can't deny a code.
This is an extremely painful business. At the moment, I am not at an equilibrium; I am not doing much to help others, and I'm certainly not helping myself.
I was thinking about it, and I realized that there are two choices. 1) to keep trying and get stronger 2) to be a coward.
I don't have pride or honor issues, but the second choice isn't much of an option... it means not especially caring about how other people feel. Even if I could do that, I don't think it would help me much. So really this just means that I have to get stronger.
I think I can still follow my code if I learn to empathize with people and care about their pain without internalizing it and making it my own. I can only do what I can. If I can remember those things, I think I could do more good than I'm doing now.
I've also been thinking a lot lately about things being meant to happen. I might have called that fate, but I don't believe it's fate; fate implies a lack of individual decision, which I do think happens.
I don't seem to be able to express myself very clearly lately.
In the song "All You Need is Love," there is a lyric that goes like this: "There's nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be."
That's what I mean to say. I've been thinking about that a lot lately. It doesn't really matter what I do because everything that's happening is exactly what's supposed to be happening and I am exactly who I'm meant to be and God is the one who's doing everything anyway, so I don't actually have anything to worry about.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Images
I'm sorry sister. Probably none of this is helpful. I still had another notebooklet and a half that I could go through for you, but it is late-bells, and I must pack and things... Here are some things I thought might be in some way remotely helpful:
-He had a rose in his pocket...
-the sound of shattering glass... so, so sweet like the ringing of resonant bells...
-a shattered street lamp
-pictures and writings on fogged glass
-a city over a dam, lights, water rushing around, watching, looking out over the city, talking ~Mom's dream
-Do you ever wonder if the clouds look down at earth and make shapes out of it?" ~some webcomic, Alex K.
-raindrop tree... made of rain, full of rain, is in the sky and grows raindrops
-wrought iron gate to an alley, a sign for an idea (love, music, beauty, thoughts, etc.)
-"The universe is dark because it's all in God's pocket and the planets are marbles" ~Aubrey
-keys
-a little tree in a pool, glistening
-4 windmills, a train car, and a house with snow on it
-a graffitied train car
-a tree growing around a lamp post
-light streaming through a keyhole
-a house made of stairs
-a spoon in a book
-"In a place where windows are doors and the floor isn't really there," ~Aubrey
-a chair made like a boat with oars (imagine the way people cross the room in a rolly chair, not wanting to stand)
-a both-tree that grows up and down (above and below the earth)
-sand castles, sand chairs, tables, furniture, etc.
-a flower, etc, growing through concrete
-a tree road
-people running in the rain
-'what if' line, do not cross
-a lamppost castle
-a beautiful lamppost amid a leafy bush, faded grey-black paint
-a small, light brown spider trapped on a journal entry, pressed between the pages in the top margin like a flower.
-"I wonder what happens when wishes get dry..." ~me, a dry fountain, hundreds of pennies lying in the bottom.
-the tree with the ivy toga
-a mermaid sitting on a slightly submerged bench during a hurricane, reading
-the ghost lanterns projected on the windows...
-autumn leaves, like lots of little sunsets captured by the trees
-all the discarded carved pumpkins after Halloween, they become houses...
-a vibrant red cardinal in a bare tree, winter, 'real'
-from a dream: a colorful bracelet with a cow figurine on the end made of blue glass
-He had a rose in his pocket...
-the sound of shattering glass... so, so sweet like the ringing of resonant bells...
-a shattered street lamp
-pictures and writings on fogged glass
-a city over a dam, lights, water rushing around, watching, looking out over the city, talking ~Mom's dream
-Do you ever wonder if the clouds look down at earth and make shapes out of it?" ~some webcomic, Alex K.
-raindrop tree... made of rain, full of rain, is in the sky and grows raindrops
-wrought iron gate to an alley, a sign for an idea (love, music, beauty, thoughts, etc.)
-"The universe is dark because it's all in God's pocket and the planets are marbles" ~Aubrey
-keys
-a little tree in a pool, glistening
-4 windmills, a train car, and a house with snow on it
-a graffitied train car
-a tree growing around a lamp post
-light streaming through a keyhole
-a house made of stairs
-a spoon in a book
-"In a place where windows are doors and the floor isn't really there," ~Aubrey
-a chair made like a boat with oars (imagine the way people cross the room in a rolly chair, not wanting to stand)
-a both-tree that grows up and down (above and below the earth)
-sand castles, sand chairs, tables, furniture, etc.
-a flower, etc, growing through concrete
-a tree road
-people running in the rain
-'what if' line, do not cross
-a lamppost castle
-a beautiful lamppost amid a leafy bush, faded grey-black paint
-a small, light brown spider trapped on a journal entry, pressed between the pages in the top margin like a flower.
-"I wonder what happens when wishes get dry..." ~me, a dry fountain, hundreds of pennies lying in the bottom.
-the tree with the ivy toga
-a mermaid sitting on a slightly submerged bench during a hurricane, reading
-the ghost lanterns projected on the windows...
-autumn leaves, like lots of little sunsets captured by the trees
-all the discarded carved pumpkins after Halloween, they become houses...
-a vibrant red cardinal in a bare tree, winter, 'real'
-from a dream: a colorful bracelet with a cow figurine on the end made of blue glass
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
I Don't Know What to do with my Hands...
Sister, regarding your painting-bells, I wanted to find you some images I have written in my notebooklets. I'm not going to be able to doodle it tonight, though... I'm sorry-bells... I am going to do it tomorrow, but I know that's when you have to start, so I'm sorry if that's too late... Otherwise, things that have struck me lately are the glory of the morning light, the powerful and delicate beauty of dandelion seeds (light enough to ride the wind, but strong enough to carry the heavy weight of wishes), and this silly idea I had recently:
I had an idea an hour or two ago. It's stupid, really, but I thought I would tell you anyway. Have you heard that quote about acting? "I don't know what to do with my hands..." Being in OAP this year, I've heard it a lot, usually as a joke referring to the common problem first-time actors encounter on stage. "They get on stage and suddenly their hands become these huge obstacles and they just don't know what to do with them," some clinician described it to us in similar words. For whatever reason, an image came to my mind of these two open hands in the foreground, palm-up, in a gesture of confusion, and before them the earth, somewhere on the picture the caption "I don't know what to do with my hands..." Because "all the world's a stage," and I wonder if maybe we all just don't know what to do with our hands and that's why we do such ridiculous or awful things.
Kind of stupid. Anyway, I'm going to be going through my notebooklets looking for quotes regarding Magi, and as I go I'm going to keep an eye out for images that you might use in your painting-bells, sister, and when I find them I'll post them on here for you.
That is the nearest word for how I feel. Or actually, how I would feel if now was the time for feeling. I've turned myself into a sort of computer lately, as if I can file away my emotions according to urgency. All these emotions hover on the edges of my consciousness, waiting for a break in the binary, a crack through which they can seep. What I felt a couple of hours ago was a massive wave, looming frozen in front of me, waiting to crash over me. I filed it, of course. Quite the waiting list, it is.
Tonight I had my last normal private lesson with Mrs. Goranson. I wasn't prepared for that. I don't know why. She says she'll keep emailing Mom and I and I can come in for a lesson if I work something up that I want to play for her, but otherwise this time has ended. I should have seen this coming. The year is almost over. But I wasn't prepared for it.
I haven't had time for anything but bare minimum, just making myself remember how to play the flute, just playing my church and silly OAP music... so I didn't have anything specific to ask her to help me with in the lesson. Instead we talked about the future, how I could get ready for college... she told me a couple of Celtic bands to look up and referred me to a couple of her old students who go to Tech... she gave me advice on being a college freshman... she gave me a book of Celtic flute duets and asked me to promise to practice them. She wrote a note to me in the front, saying if I kept my flute with me I would always have a song in my heart. She told me to go with her blessing.
I kept thinking "Never a lender nor a borrower be," or whatever that Polonius quote is.
I smiled and nodded, but I wanted to cry. I tried to thank her. I told her how much her lessons on improvisation helped in OAP, and I thanked her for that. But I wanted to thank her for everything, for how I usually leave the music building with an untameable smile on my face. Tonight I left the music building trying to keep my heart from falling out.
I'm still going to see her for flute choir at least a couple more times. It wasn't a final goodbye. It's just that it was the end of something that I forgot was ending. High school band at Cooper High School might suck now, and I know it would have been awful to be in it this last year, but I still hated quitting and I still miss it. In a way, keeping up lessons like that let me pretend that I wasn't letting go of that part of my life yet. But I can see that I have.
"Go with my blessing,"
I'm not ready to go out into the world.
Sometime last week, I realized that my two comrades and I have officially become CalculaTORs. We're not going to use our books anymore. We're just preparing for the test. We've been told everything we need to know. We've become capable in the highest level of math available to us. I gape at the board sometimes, at the mass of symbols sprawling across the wall, but I'm amazed not because of all those symbols and obscure numbers, but because I understand them.
I'm not ready to go out into the world.
I'm going to graduate high school soon. Six weeks. In a few months, I'm going to go to college and have to be old. I don't want to prolong high school--of course I don't want that. It's just hard for me to grasp that this time is over... that I can no longer be a jack of all trades. I feel there was so much more I wanted to learn... but I've run out of time.
I'm just not ready to go out into the world.
I'm not even explaining this well. This is the looming wave. This is the part where I realize that I'm supposed to know everything, where I want to say "Wait! Tell me one more time!" but I have to jump.
I realized something as I was standing in flute choir. I thought to myself:
I'm probably a fool for trying to write about Magi for this project. This is going to be very, very difficult. Or at least right now it looks very daunting. I've never incorporated something so real and close to my heart for school before. And wisely so, as it's extremely dangerous. But I couldn't ignore the magician capering around in my mind... and he seems to be enjoying himself so far. It's such an incredibly difficult thing to come up with a 'finished' product. His story is obviously a novel in my mind--it couldn't be anything else. So I have to find a piece of the novel that is complete enough to give to Mrs. Thornton, just a piece. I have to think of this 'finished' story as a chapter. I wish I had a couple of years to write the novel instead, do all the research, all the exploring, all the oddly-timed conversations with Magi... but I have to do this by next week. Hopefully next Friday instead of Tuesday.
Mostly, I need to go to sleep... I hope you are well, and I wish you a merry hour, whichever part of the day you are in.
I had an idea an hour or two ago. It's stupid, really, but I thought I would tell you anyway. Have you heard that quote about acting? "I don't know what to do with my hands..." Being in OAP this year, I've heard it a lot, usually as a joke referring to the common problem first-time actors encounter on stage. "They get on stage and suddenly their hands become these huge obstacles and they just don't know what to do with them," some clinician described it to us in similar words. For whatever reason, an image came to my mind of these two open hands in the foreground, palm-up, in a gesture of confusion, and before them the earth, somewhere on the picture the caption "I don't know what to do with my hands..." Because "all the world's a stage," and I wonder if maybe we all just don't know what to do with our hands and that's why we do such ridiculous or awful things.
Kind of stupid. Anyway, I'm going to be going through my notebooklets looking for quotes regarding Magi, and as I go I'm going to keep an eye out for images that you might use in your painting-bells, sister, and when I find them I'll post them on here for you.
Overwhelmed.
That is the nearest word for how I feel. Or actually, how I would feel if now was the time for feeling. I've turned myself into a sort of computer lately, as if I can file away my emotions according to urgency. All these emotions hover on the edges of my consciousness, waiting for a break in the binary, a crack through which they can seep. What I felt a couple of hours ago was a massive wave, looming frozen in front of me, waiting to crash over me. I filed it, of course. Quite the waiting list, it is.
Tonight I had my last normal private lesson with Mrs. Goranson. I wasn't prepared for that. I don't know why. She says she'll keep emailing Mom and I and I can come in for a lesson if I work something up that I want to play for her, but otherwise this time has ended. I should have seen this coming. The year is almost over. But I wasn't prepared for it.
I haven't had time for anything but bare minimum, just making myself remember how to play the flute, just playing my church and silly OAP music... so I didn't have anything specific to ask her to help me with in the lesson. Instead we talked about the future, how I could get ready for college... she told me a couple of Celtic bands to look up and referred me to a couple of her old students who go to Tech... she gave me advice on being a college freshman... she gave me a book of Celtic flute duets and asked me to promise to practice them. She wrote a note to me in the front, saying if I kept my flute with me I would always have a song in my heart. She told me to go with her blessing.
I kept thinking "Never a lender nor a borrower be," or whatever that Polonius quote is.
I smiled and nodded, but I wanted to cry. I tried to thank her. I told her how much her lessons on improvisation helped in OAP, and I thanked her for that. But I wanted to thank her for everything, for how I usually leave the music building with an untameable smile on my face. Tonight I left the music building trying to keep my heart from falling out.
I'm still going to see her for flute choir at least a couple more times. It wasn't a final goodbye. It's just that it was the end of something that I forgot was ending. High school band at Cooper High School might suck now, and I know it would have been awful to be in it this last year, but I still hated quitting and I still miss it. In a way, keeping up lessons like that let me pretend that I wasn't letting go of that part of my life yet. But I can see that I have.
"Go with my blessing,"
I'm not ready to go out into the world.
Sometime last week, I realized that my two comrades and I have officially become CalculaTORs. We're not going to use our books anymore. We're just preparing for the test. We've been told everything we need to know. We've become capable in the highest level of math available to us. I gape at the board sometimes, at the mass of symbols sprawling across the wall, but I'm amazed not because of all those symbols and obscure numbers, but because I understand them.
I'm not ready to go out into the world.
I'm going to graduate high school soon. Six weeks. In a few months, I'm going to go to college and have to be old. I don't want to prolong high school--of course I don't want that. It's just hard for me to grasp that this time is over... that I can no longer be a jack of all trades. I feel there was so much more I wanted to learn... but I've run out of time.
I'm just not ready to go out into the world.
I'm not even explaining this well. This is the looming wave. This is the part where I realize that I'm supposed to know everything, where I want to say "Wait! Tell me one more time!" but I have to jump.
I realized something as I was standing in flute choir. I thought to myself:
I am everywhere a foreigner.What silly things to think. Such a feeling cannot be explored right now. So it's been filed away for later. I have two huge contests this week and a massive English project due next week.
I am a foreigner standing in a circle of flutists.
I am a foreigner sitting in Calculus.
I am a foreigner crossing a stage.
I am a foreigner walking the halls of a high school.
I speak with broken words in the accent of an outsider. I stumble through their comfortable customs. I always look nervous because I am always being brave, always standing just on the outside, watching, observing, taking notes.
Someday, I would like to go to my own country. I like to think I would not be a foreigner if I sat with a group of writers. Perhaps I still would. But I would like to be naturalized into that circle. I would like to speak a language in which I am fluent. I would like to be somewhere that I belong to be.
I'm probably a fool for trying to write about Magi for this project. This is going to be very, very difficult. Or at least right now it looks very daunting. I've never incorporated something so real and close to my heart for school before. And wisely so, as it's extremely dangerous. But I couldn't ignore the magician capering around in my mind... and he seems to be enjoying himself so far. It's such an incredibly difficult thing to come up with a 'finished' product. His story is obviously a novel in my mind--it couldn't be anything else. So I have to find a piece of the novel that is complete enough to give to Mrs. Thornton, just a piece. I have to think of this 'finished' story as a chapter. I wish I had a couple of years to write the novel instead, do all the research, all the exploring, all the oddly-timed conversations with Magi... but I have to do this by next week. Hopefully next Friday instead of Tuesday.
Mostly, I need to go to sleep... I hope you are well, and I wish you a merry hour, whichever part of the day you are in.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
A Field of Wishes
Yesterday was the last day of the 5th 6 weeks--and that means that once the grades get officially put in on Tuesday the school will calculate our GPAs and class rank. And I'm pretty sure that means that I don't have to kill myself for A's anymore. I don't think my grades for this final 6 weeks will count... not sure... but even if they do, I'm still not going to continue this mad fight with the grade book. I won't fail or anything... but I don't want to lose anymore vast amounts of sleep or weight.
It was a very happy day.
Oh. Guess what? I made a freaking 100 on that Zorro test. I thought I failed it. I didn't even quite finish reading the book. Isn't that awesome? I'm going to finish the book later, of course, but for now I'm happy with the grade.
I've been going over to Grandma's house every morning since Mom has been gone, and so far I haven't forgotten anything or been especially late. At first it really terrified me to think that someone's life kind of depended on me getting up in the morning. But God wakes me up even if my alarm doesn't, and I'm actually getting enough sleep now, so it's okay.
For the most part I'm all caught up in OAP... I finally wrote out my music, and now of course there are going to be a few changes to it, but that's okay. The only thing I have left to do in Economics is take the final sometime. The Calculus exam is about 2 and a half weeks away, but it seems like I might actually do okay on it. I turned in my stupid essay for Mrs. Falls on time (I wrote it in economics class). I even turned my English project in on time. Mrs. Thornton was amazed--I wasn't even late to class.
It's that time of year--Mrs. Thornton's Create a Hero Project. She gave us a set of criteria to fill out about our hero, things like the hero's name, costume, powers, etc. I knew at the beginning of the six weeks when I saw this project on our syllabus that I wanted to write about Magi.
I spent lots of time talking to him about it, and he finally agreed to let me write about him as long as I included a disclaimer. So I did. I wasn't sure I could do it, but I did. Thursday night I talked to him for a while so that I could find some suitable responses to the questions, and then on Friday I finally wrote them all down during Mrs. Falls class. I had to skip lunch to finish, but I got it all done, disclaimer and all.
During English class we all read our papers aloud and took notes on each other's heroes. I was kind of nervous to read mine, partly because it was pretty long, partly because I worried about what Magi would think, and partly because my hero was somewhat serious as opposed to the other heroes that had been shared so far which were kind of funny. All the heroes were good. It was really a cool assignment. We didn't finish sharing because other people had long descriptions, too, so we're going to continue on Monday.
Before I started reading, I mentioned that it was kind of long, but several people asked me to read all of it anyway because they wanted to hear it. It was very nice of them to be interested. I didn't read the disclaimer aloud, of course; that was for Mrs. Thornton. I finally finished reading, and it was well received, I think. Mrs. Thornton looked kind of impressed and said "Wow, that was a full character analysis and everything."
I don't know how good it was or anything, and I know it isn't exactly accurate, but that's what the disclaimer is for. Once I get the paper back I'll post it on here.
It was raining most of the day Friday. The sky was beautiful and the windows in the school cast dimmed blue-grey light. It was storming during English class, and the thunder and lightning added dramatic effect to our hero accounts. After school, crowds of people were huddled at the exits watching water fall from the sky, and kids outside were running, hoods up, hands over their heads. I saw the most beautiful thing--the school buses were driving by, leaving the parking lot, and the rain had painted the windows with mist. Inside, children and teenagers gazed at the windows intently, their fingers raised to trace messages in the mist. They touched the glass gently, with a look of purpose and awe. I watched them as the bus passed, and then I walked out from under the awning, walked into the rain, and smiled.
This coming week is going to be crazy. OAP and UIL Region contests are this coming weekend. I still don't really know the details, but I'm going to end up staying in Stephenville 2 nights. I'm nervous about both contests.
It rained again today. The sky has been white most of the day. All I've done today is take care of Grandma, sleep, and eat. I spent about an hour cleaning her kitchen, and it's very pretty. It doesn't look like a picture in a magazine, but it does look like a kitchen I've been cooking and cleaning in for several days. I feel like a mother, and I got that feeling like "Yes, this is my kitchen." I don't know if anyone will know what I mean by that. Before I cleaned, there were tons of dishes everywhere from where Dad had let them pile up, and now the counters are clear and it's just beautiful. Now that I've gotten it clean, I wash dishes immediately. I really need to clean our kitchen; it looks awful.
For some reason I felt sad this afternoon. I sat outside on the porch steps and looked at the beautiful sky and all the plants that are coming to life and felt very sad. I looked out at the field behind our house and saw at least a hundred puffy white dandelions and said to myself "That's a lot of wishes." After a while I got up and walked around in that field and sang to God. It was rather amazing.
I hope you have had a wonderful day today, and if you haven't, try singing to God.
It was a very happy day.
Oh. Guess what? I made a freaking 100 on that Zorro test. I thought I failed it. I didn't even quite finish reading the book. Isn't that awesome? I'm going to finish the book later, of course, but for now I'm happy with the grade.
I've been going over to Grandma's house every morning since Mom has been gone, and so far I haven't forgotten anything or been especially late. At first it really terrified me to think that someone's life kind of depended on me getting up in the morning. But God wakes me up even if my alarm doesn't, and I'm actually getting enough sleep now, so it's okay.
For the most part I'm all caught up in OAP... I finally wrote out my music, and now of course there are going to be a few changes to it, but that's okay. The only thing I have left to do in Economics is take the final sometime. The Calculus exam is about 2 and a half weeks away, but it seems like I might actually do okay on it. I turned in my stupid essay for Mrs. Falls on time (I wrote it in economics class). I even turned my English project in on time. Mrs. Thornton was amazed--I wasn't even late to class.
It's that time of year--Mrs. Thornton's Create a Hero Project. She gave us a set of criteria to fill out about our hero, things like the hero's name, costume, powers, etc. I knew at the beginning of the six weeks when I saw this project on our syllabus that I wanted to write about Magi.
I spent lots of time talking to him about it, and he finally agreed to let me write about him as long as I included a disclaimer. So I did. I wasn't sure I could do it, but I did. Thursday night I talked to him for a while so that I could find some suitable responses to the questions, and then on Friday I finally wrote them all down during Mrs. Falls class. I had to skip lunch to finish, but I got it all done, disclaimer and all.
During English class we all read our papers aloud and took notes on each other's heroes. I was kind of nervous to read mine, partly because it was pretty long, partly because I worried about what Magi would think, and partly because my hero was somewhat serious as opposed to the other heroes that had been shared so far which were kind of funny. All the heroes were good. It was really a cool assignment. We didn't finish sharing because other people had long descriptions, too, so we're going to continue on Monday.
Before I started reading, I mentioned that it was kind of long, but several people asked me to read all of it anyway because they wanted to hear it. It was very nice of them to be interested. I didn't read the disclaimer aloud, of course; that was for Mrs. Thornton. I finally finished reading, and it was well received, I think. Mrs. Thornton looked kind of impressed and said "Wow, that was a full character analysis and everything."
I don't know how good it was or anything, and I know it isn't exactly accurate, but that's what the disclaimer is for. Once I get the paper back I'll post it on here.
It was raining most of the day Friday. The sky was beautiful and the windows in the school cast dimmed blue-grey light. It was storming during English class, and the thunder and lightning added dramatic effect to our hero accounts. After school, crowds of people were huddled at the exits watching water fall from the sky, and kids outside were running, hoods up, hands over their heads. I saw the most beautiful thing--the school buses were driving by, leaving the parking lot, and the rain had painted the windows with mist. Inside, children and teenagers gazed at the windows intently, their fingers raised to trace messages in the mist. They touched the glass gently, with a look of purpose and awe. I watched them as the bus passed, and then I walked out from under the awning, walked into the rain, and smiled.
This coming week is going to be crazy. OAP and UIL Region contests are this coming weekend. I still don't really know the details, but I'm going to end up staying in Stephenville 2 nights. I'm nervous about both contests.
It rained again today. The sky has been white most of the day. All I've done today is take care of Grandma, sleep, and eat. I spent about an hour cleaning her kitchen, and it's very pretty. It doesn't look like a picture in a magazine, but it does look like a kitchen I've been cooking and cleaning in for several days. I feel like a mother, and I got that feeling like "Yes, this is my kitchen." I don't know if anyone will know what I mean by that. Before I cleaned, there were tons of dishes everywhere from where Dad had let them pile up, and now the counters are clear and it's just beautiful. Now that I've gotten it clean, I wash dishes immediately. I really need to clean our kitchen; it looks awful.
For some reason I felt sad this afternoon. I sat outside on the porch steps and looked at the beautiful sky and all the plants that are coming to life and felt very sad. I looked out at the field behind our house and saw at least a hundred puffy white dandelions and said to myself "That's a lot of wishes." After a while I got up and walked around in that field and sang to God. It was rather amazing.
I hope you have had a wonderful day today, and if you haven't, try singing to God.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
It Raineth Everyday
Turns out I was indeed quoting that song wrong. I found it:
When that I was and a little tiny boy
I really want to read "Twelfth Night" now. I think I would fall in love with Feste.
I just watched my fingers as I typed this. It kind of freaked me out a little. It's so weird that I can move my hands like that and barely have to think about it.
Sorry. Strange thoughts.
When that I was and a little tiny boy
When that I was and a little tiny boy
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came to man's estate,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came, alas, to wive,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
By swaggering could I never thrive,
For the rain it raineth every day.
But when I came unto my beds,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
With toss-pots still 'had drunken heads,
For the rain it raineth every day.
A great while ago the world began,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
But that's all one, our play is done,
And we'll strive to please you every day.
-- William Shakespeare
I really want to read "Twelfth Night" now. I think I would fall in love with Feste.
I just watched my fingers as I typed this. It kind of freaked me out a little. It's so weird that I can move my hands like that and barely have to think about it.
Sorry. Strange thoughts.
Monday, April 6, 2009
Shakespeare's Ontological Magick Circus
It seems that I have largely fallen out of the habit of writing these days. This is absolutely ridiculous. Funny how powerful experiences tend to inspire life to sprint a new pace and sweep us up in her arms, scarcely giving us a moment to record our thoughts, leaving our valuable new insights to the fragile trust of the devoted but frail hands of Memory; she paints with the faintest watercolor, pigments of neurons, a capricious medium which illuminates some details with the vibrancy of young flames and others with the evanescent colors of sounds already forgotten.
You can probably tell that I've been reading and that I saw a play today; I apologize for the theatrics.
As just mentioned, I saw a play today: Shakespeare's Ontological Magick Circus
It was awesome. I'm very excited about having discovered the word "ontology," which refers to the study of being. I didn't know there was a name and 'science' for such thoughts.
The hour I write this is as ridiculous as my recent writing habits--which is to say nothing negative to time, for whom I have been lately developing a fondness. I say ridiculous because I still have homework. Why must I always have homework? I suppose much of it is my own fault for not working harder during school hours.
The stage set was of a simple design--three ringed platforms, one at center, down left, and down right, each with a painted wooden box resting at its middle, a subtle rack of clothing bordered by black curtains up center, behind which rose a flag pole, and finally, connected to the pole, a few equally spaced poles on the outside strung with colorful half ovals of paper banner, giving the gentle impression of a circus.
I should really get in the habit of beginning at the beginning.
Des and I arrived not knowing quite where to go; we had previously only been to the stage as players ourselves, admitted through the backstage area. In our confusion, we ran into Jamie Douglas, who showed us the way to the front entrance and box office. By the way sister, she said hello.
For whatever reason, Des and I ended up getting front row seats. We walked in the theatre led by an usher, our eyes adjusting to the purple house lights, our ears adjusting happily to the soft background of Death Cab for Cutie. After we were seated, this was followed by the Shins. With great excitement we took in the set and read the program until the music stopped and the lights behind the white paper at the back curtain rose just as the house lights dimmed. The play began.
The five actor/actresses happily ran onstage and began speaking to us. The play was set up so that the five introduced various scenes of Shakespeare, performed them (changing characters with the ease of changing lines, donning clothing and accessories from the rack upstage and the boxes on the rings), and then gave commentary on them. They introduced us to various acting styles and types of comedy.
For one scene, Ozuna (one of the actors) explained that they had no one to play Juliet. "But I know there are plenty of would-be Juliets in the audience!" he proclaimed. "Do I see a volunteer?" Des and I expected everyone to jump at the opportunity to be on stage, but instead we heard a quiet wave of fearful grumbles, so she eagerly threw her hand in the air. With Shakespearean gentlemanliness, Ozuna offered his hand and she took the stage. Juliet merely sat in the scene while the nurse put on a hilarious display, but I was nonetheless very excited that Des got to be on stage.
The play was simply wonderful. I love Shakespeare.
Yesterday I saw The Fast and the Furious 4. Those movies are great if you like fast cars, macho men, and scantily dressed girls--not subjects I am particularly enamored with. I saw the movie for the sake and novelty of seeing it with Des and also out of my strange idea of research; I sometimes like to see or do things I wouldn't normally choose to do in order to expand my horizons, I suppose, really to broaden my writing capacity. I guess it's weird, but since I started keeping notebooklets, I think of everything in terms of writing.
The point of that ill-placed and random paragraph, which was no doubt jarring to my storylet, was simply this observation: the actors performed several sword fighting scenes, and I realized as I watched them that live theatre fencing (choreographed though it no doubt was, ignorant as I am) is much more exciting to me than movies like F & F.
One of the actresses sang a lullaby to the faerie queen in "A Midsummer Night's Dream." It was positively beautiful. Des and I agreed that we would like to learn it and sing it to our children if we ever had any.
At the end of the play, the actors/actresses clustered together to recite lines that gave insight to Shakespeare's philosophy of life and theatre. Intermittently the two actresses sang in unison... I wish I remembered the lines and more than that I wish I remembered the melody; the two both sang beautifully and had contrasting voices which created a lovely chorus effect. This last line, which was repeated several times, stuck with me. I'm probably remembering even this little bit wrong:
"...and the rain,
it rained everyday..."
Finally, the lights faded to black out, the actors/actresses came to the front to bow, and Des and I gave them a standing ovation even though most people stayed seated. This was their last performance, so we saw them present the director with a token of their appreciation--a stunningly beautiful fencing foil of dazzling silver with flashes of gold on the guard, mounted on a plaque of wood which one actress declared ambiguously was "very old."
As the troupe pranced offstage, Ozuna gave the audience a final big smile and a happy wave as he turned to run off with the others. It's strange to notice such a thing, but I found this gesture incredibly profound... it raised a strange feeling in me that I could not quite place and made me think about the way actors and audiences connect... I can't even describe it.
Yesterday... it's quite difficult to remember now. But I mainly wanted to write one particular scene. Before I started my homework, I impulsively satisfied a craving I've had for months; I took my grandmother's guitar from its battered old case, grabbed my tuner and an old book of chords, and went outside. I sat on the swing to the side of the house in the late afternoon light, the wind roaming around me, and I roughly tuned the guitar, though the strings need changed. When I was pseudo-tuned, I played my favorite chord--E major. I felt a weight fall from me.
I was rather sad that day, even as I played guitar in the midst of a beautiful day, which was wonderful but also kind of lonely. After I saw the play today, I was filled with joy, the canary yellow variety that makes the world and everything in it look especially beautiful and makes coming days, laden with the luggage of responsibility though they are, look wonderful and exciting.
Of course, now that the early hours of Monday have settled upon me and I still haven't finished homework, I feel rather more like my usual moderately dispirited self. Still, it was a happy day and a wonderful feeling, and I am extremely grateful that I saw the play, and I'm very glad that I wrote this silly post.
I know grades are important, but they're simply exhausting; I can't help but believe that people and experiences are more important. I can't help but want to preserve life lessons more than I want to preserve my GPA.
You can probably tell that I've been reading and that I saw a play today; I apologize for the theatrics.
As just mentioned, I saw a play today: Shakespeare's Ontological Magick Circus
It was awesome. I'm very excited about having discovered the word "ontology," which refers to the study of being. I didn't know there was a name and 'science' for such thoughts.
The hour I write this is as ridiculous as my recent writing habits--which is to say nothing negative to time, for whom I have been lately developing a fondness. I say ridiculous because I still have homework. Why must I always have homework? I suppose much of it is my own fault for not working harder during school hours.
The stage set was of a simple design--three ringed platforms, one at center, down left, and down right, each with a painted wooden box resting at its middle, a subtle rack of clothing bordered by black curtains up center, behind which rose a flag pole, and finally, connected to the pole, a few equally spaced poles on the outside strung with colorful half ovals of paper banner, giving the gentle impression of a circus.
I should really get in the habit of beginning at the beginning.
Des and I arrived not knowing quite where to go; we had previously only been to the stage as players ourselves, admitted through the backstage area. In our confusion, we ran into Jamie Douglas, who showed us the way to the front entrance and box office. By the way sister, she said hello.
For whatever reason, Des and I ended up getting front row seats. We walked in the theatre led by an usher, our eyes adjusting to the purple house lights, our ears adjusting happily to the soft background of Death Cab for Cutie. After we were seated, this was followed by the Shins. With great excitement we took in the set and read the program until the music stopped and the lights behind the white paper at the back curtain rose just as the house lights dimmed. The play began.
The five actor/actresses happily ran onstage and began speaking to us. The play was set up so that the five introduced various scenes of Shakespeare, performed them (changing characters with the ease of changing lines, donning clothing and accessories from the rack upstage and the boxes on the rings), and then gave commentary on them. They introduced us to various acting styles and types of comedy.
For one scene, Ozuna (one of the actors) explained that they had no one to play Juliet. "But I know there are plenty of would-be Juliets in the audience!" he proclaimed. "Do I see a volunteer?" Des and I expected everyone to jump at the opportunity to be on stage, but instead we heard a quiet wave of fearful grumbles, so she eagerly threw her hand in the air. With Shakespearean gentlemanliness, Ozuna offered his hand and she took the stage. Juliet merely sat in the scene while the nurse put on a hilarious display, but I was nonetheless very excited that Des got to be on stage.
The play was simply wonderful. I love Shakespeare.
Yesterday I saw The Fast and the Furious 4. Those movies are great if you like fast cars, macho men, and scantily dressed girls--not subjects I am particularly enamored with. I saw the movie for the sake and novelty of seeing it with Des and also out of my strange idea of research; I sometimes like to see or do things I wouldn't normally choose to do in order to expand my horizons, I suppose, really to broaden my writing capacity. I guess it's weird, but since I started keeping notebooklets, I think of everything in terms of writing.
The point of that ill-placed and random paragraph, which was no doubt jarring to my storylet, was simply this observation: the actors performed several sword fighting scenes, and I realized as I watched them that live theatre fencing (choreographed though it no doubt was, ignorant as I am) is much more exciting to me than movies like F & F.
One of the actresses sang a lullaby to the faerie queen in "A Midsummer Night's Dream." It was positively beautiful. Des and I agreed that we would like to learn it and sing it to our children if we ever had any.
At the end of the play, the actors/actresses clustered together to recite lines that gave insight to Shakespeare's philosophy of life and theatre. Intermittently the two actresses sang in unison... I wish I remembered the lines and more than that I wish I remembered the melody; the two both sang beautifully and had contrasting voices which created a lovely chorus effect. This last line, which was repeated several times, stuck with me. I'm probably remembering even this little bit wrong:
"...and the rain,
it rained everyday..."
Finally, the lights faded to black out, the actors/actresses came to the front to bow, and Des and I gave them a standing ovation even though most people stayed seated. This was their last performance, so we saw them present the director with a token of their appreciation--a stunningly beautiful fencing foil of dazzling silver with flashes of gold on the guard, mounted on a plaque of wood which one actress declared ambiguously was "very old."
As the troupe pranced offstage, Ozuna gave the audience a final big smile and a happy wave as he turned to run off with the others. It's strange to notice such a thing, but I found this gesture incredibly profound... it raised a strange feeling in me that I could not quite place and made me think about the way actors and audiences connect... I can't even describe it.
Yesterday... it's quite difficult to remember now. But I mainly wanted to write one particular scene. Before I started my homework, I impulsively satisfied a craving I've had for months; I took my grandmother's guitar from its battered old case, grabbed my tuner and an old book of chords, and went outside. I sat on the swing to the side of the house in the late afternoon light, the wind roaming around me, and I roughly tuned the guitar, though the strings need changed. When I was pseudo-tuned, I played my favorite chord--E major. I felt a weight fall from me.
I was rather sad that day, even as I played guitar in the midst of a beautiful day, which was wonderful but also kind of lonely. After I saw the play today, I was filled with joy, the canary yellow variety that makes the world and everything in it look especially beautiful and makes coming days, laden with the luggage of responsibility though they are, look wonderful and exciting.
Of course, now that the early hours of Monday have settled upon me and I still haven't finished homework, I feel rather more like my usual moderately dispirited self. Still, it was a happy day and a wonderful feeling, and I am extremely grateful that I saw the play, and I'm very glad that I wrote this silly post.
I know grades are important, but they're simply exhausting; I can't help but believe that people and experiences are more important. I can't help but want to preserve life lessons more than I want to preserve my GPA.
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