L-O-V-E

This picture pretty much sums up my relationship, and I thought I would share. Hope you are having a wonderful week!

That's all. :-)

I'm thankful for...

I was telling some friends at dinner that my family never does the whole go-around-the-table-and-say-what-I'm-thankful-for thing on Thanksgiving. I always laugh because what people say, although genuine, often sounds cheesy. I can't help but smile and be sarcastic, and it completely ruins the mood. But, I figured that this Thanksgiving I would write down a few things I was thankful for this year. These are not in order, they just happen to be how I thought of them.

1. My college education. I have been very lucky and have been able to attend a good school. My education will (hopefully!) get me a good job in an economy that seems to be going down hill. Either way, I have marketable skills and will be able to sell myself well enough for most any job I need.

2. My family. Seriously, they are awesome. My mom and dad support me in everything I do which I know is not always typical. They paid for volleyball over the years and rarely missed a game, no matter the distance. They give me whatever I need without spoiling me and instilled good moral values into my life. Thanks mom and dad! And, of course, my brothers. We get along so well compared to a lot of other siblings, and they mean a lot to me. They make me laugh, they make me angry, but they always love me. I love them all very much.

Also, the rest of my family! I love everyone! Thank you for being amazing!

3. My friends. All of my friends have had huge impacts on my life. Without them, I wouldn't be the person I am today. Thanks for being my friend through my bitter sarcasm and crazy moments!

4. My boyfriend. Curt has come into my life in such a meaningful way. I can't imagine my life without him, and thankfully I will never have to. Love you, cuddle bug (yep, I called you that in my blog. Deal with it).

5. Studying abroad. I can't begin to explain how much of an impact that my experience in Europe had on me. I gained confidence and new appreciation for my life.

6. Technology. Without it, I wouldn't be able to stay connected as easily with family members and friends that live far away. I wouldn't be able to share pictures with my friends. I couldn't watch my favorite shows or listen to calming music easily. Maybe it's a weird thing to be thankful for, but imagine your life without your computer/TV/cell phone. It wouldn't be easy.

7. My health. I'm pretty healthy, and I'm glad I don't have to deal with a lot of health issues. Thank goodness!

8. Today. I think we take our lives for granted. We think that we will always have tomorrow to finish doing something we started today. Or that the sun will shine tomorrow. I'm happy that I have today to enjoy my life because there are so many that don't.

9. Happiness. Sounds random, but I'm thankful that I can be happy with my life.

10. Being me. My life really is good. My friends and family make my life amazing. I love being me, and I'm so glad that I am me!

I am thankful for many more things in my life, but I figured a small list would keep your attention longer. Thank you for everyone that has made my life extraordinary! If you feel compelled to do so, share in the comments what you are thankful for this year (it's not as cheesy as it looks).

Cleaning out a career

I realized something today.

My volleyball career is over. And, yes, I understood this on Saturday night when my team lost in the Conference Championship, but it really hit me today. Why, you may ask?

I cleaned out my locker.

Trivial, but in actuality, that locker room has been the hub for my Central career. Four years worth of funny locker room stories, celebrations, condolences, team talks, singing in the showers, rocking out to everything from Celine Dion to Justin Bieber. It's where I got ready to play.

It's not like my entire volleyball career happened at Central. I have been playing since the 7th grade. Year-round, in fact. But the most significant part of my career happened there. The most memorable and exciting parts were at Central. The most disappointing and heartbreaking were there, too. The hundreds of practices and countless tournaments I participated in have been mounting towards this anti-climactic moment.  

As I was going through my things, I realized I wouldn't need a lot of it again. My volleyball shoes which I had bought just for this year because I beat the crap out of my shoes last year. My knee pads which are at least four years old, reek beyond belief, and are stained yellow because of sweat. My ankle braces which are no longer white, but stained brown and yellow. These things hold so much value for me, and I never realized it before. Why would these things mean so much to me? 

I piled all of these things as well as extra spandex, socks, underwear, shampoo, etc. into a flimsy, plastic Walmart bag. I gave back my lock and practice shirt. And I walked out the door. It felt terrible to know that I would never have to go back in. And as I went outside, I put up my umbrella (because it is ridiculously rainy) and carried my heaps of things. Two steps out the door, the plastic bag broke and my things tumbled out, spilling all over the wet concrete. I hurriedly put down the umbrella and stuffed my shoes and knee pads back into the bag. But, I no longer had hands for the umbrella. So, I walked back to my room in the cold rain with my volleyball past in my arms. 

The irony was not lost on me. 

I dumped my stuff in my room, and I immediately began to write this post. I'm looking at my wet jeans from where I held all of my wet things close to my body, and my hair is curling around my face. And I wonder why this means so much to me. Stuff is just stuff. But it is what they represent. Before every game and practice I put those shoes and knee pads on. I ran in those shoes and dived in those knee pads. They represent my work and my career as a volleyball player. Those memories I have are not dependent on those things. Sure, I may be reminded of my times playing, but I will always have those memories. With or without my shoes.

Today, I pulled my name tag off of the top of my locker. I've done it before, but every year I knew I would see it again. I looked at my last name on the paper, and I thought about saving it for a moment, just to remind me of the amazing times I had. Instead, I walked towards the garbage can, crumpled up the paper, and threw it in. It was just a piece of paper.

Cheers to the freakin' weekend!

I'm over half way done with my first semester of senior year, and let me tell you, I'm super excited to see Christmas Break!

Don't get me wrong, this semester has been flying by. Volleyball is getting closer to being done (if we do well, we could still have a few weeks to go. If we don't, we could be done as early as Nov. 1). Senior night is over, so I have no more games on Central's floor. Ever. My 22nd birthday is in four short days! I have over 100 pages of reading to do for tomorrow. I need to go shoot some pictures for my photography class before tomorrow. Oh, I got a puppy! I don't have one of my classes for a week. It's cold and windy most days which means winter is on it's way. But today is a lovely 70 degrees. I just finished my last volleyball tournament ever (we went 4-0). I broke two school records for career digs as well as season digs. My knees are extremely swollen and bruised because of it. The wonderful fall day is calling me and my book. I love weekends. And I'm lovin' life. :-)

Me and Belle! Isn't she cute?!?

So, I know that was a lot to take in, but I don't have a ton of time because of said homework. I'm looking forward to this week, so I hope it's a good one! Have a wonderful week!

Glass half empty, or is it full?

It's been one of those weeks.

One of weeks that you hate and wish you could just sleep it off and make it go away. The stress of school and homework and the school paper and volleyball are adding up. I can't wait until I'm not tired anymore. Cue the end of the semester. Sadly, I'm a procrastinator.

Happily, the week is over! It's a brand new week which will probably be just as full of stress and tiredness, but it has to be better than last week. Things are looking up...for now.

Goals for the week:
Don't procrastinate my paper for Friday.
Beat BV on Tuesday night.
Get my reading in Wuthering Heights done.
Figure out how to develop pictures in photography class, and then develop them.
Don't procrastinate.

I will let you know how the list goes.

Blah!

Quick update:

I. hate. school.

That's all.

Senior year

Well, I know I haven't posted in quite a while. I never finished my last challenge either, but at the present moment, I really don't care. I'm starting my senior year of college! I'm not sure how I feel about it, yet. I want to be done with school, that much I am sure about. But, at the same time, I wish I didn't have to leave.

My classes this year should't be difficult: I have volleyball class (yes, I took volleyball class), photography, 19th century literature, and literary criticism. To be honest, literary criticism will be a pain in the ass, but the rest will be a least a little fun. The tough part will come in editing the school newspaper and being a tutor on top of volleyball.

The past two weeks has been taken up by volleyball preseason. We have had 15 practices in a week, and my body is exhausted. Although I'm 21, my body feels much older. I found out that I have some pretty nasty tendinitis in both of my knees and just a few days ago my quad started hurting badly. I sat out of practices today, so I hope I get to play tomorrow. *fingers crossed*

Basically, this is my last year of competitive volleyball, and it is probably a good thing because I'm not sure my body could handle it anymore. I think what makes me most sad is that I can't share my last season with the rest of my family. Most of my family members have never seen me play, and I wish I could share my love for the game with them. But, they all live really far away. I'm very thankful that the family and friends I have close by get to watch, but on senior night, I won't have the huge cheering section in the stands, and deep down I wish I did. I know that most of my family and a lot friends can't be there, so I can't hold it against them, but it's still upsetting.

Okay, enough of the sad stuff. School has been in session for three days, it's nice outside, and life is going decently well. I need to get to bed to get up early, but there was a little update on my boring life and some of the things I have been thinking about. Until next time...

Days 24-25 of 30 day book challenge

Day 24: Your favorite series (I don't know why the post is creating too much space between paragraphs...it's annoying).


Easy. Harry Potter. Hands down. 


I don't really think I need to explain this one much more, you just have to read the rest of the book challenge blog posts to know I'm in love with the series. 


Day 25: The nerdiest book you’ve ever read.


Uh...?


Oh! I got it! The Origins of the Specious. Not species. The book is by Patricia O'Conner, and I thought it was pretty fascinating. It's all about the English language and how we use certain words and not others. She shoves the "rules" right out the door!

"She reveals why some of grammar’s best-known “rules” aren’t–and never were–rules at all. She explains how Brits and Yanks wound up speaking the same language so differently, and why British English isn’t necessarily purer."

Days 14-23 of 30 day book challenge

I know. I'm terrible. I haven't updated in over a week! But, here are all of the days I missed in very short chunks. Very short.

Day 14: A book you regret not having read sooner.

Jane Austen novels. Love 'em.

Day 15: A book you haven’t read, but is on your “will read” list.

Oh, this is a looooooooong list. I want to read the Hunger Games Series, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo series, and The Help. There are a lot more on that list...I just don't have the time.

Day 16: A book you haven’t read and have no intention of ever reading.

Lord of the Rings. Ew. Too boring.

Day 17: A book you want to like, but can’t get into for whatever reason. Why can’t you get into it?

Reading Lolita in Tehran. It's been sitting on my book shelf for a ages, and I've tried reading it many times. I don't know why I can't seem to read it. I will get there eventually.

Day 18: A book you think is highly overrated.

"Classics." Not all, but most.

Day 19: A book you think is woefully underrated.

I don't really know. I don't really think this is underrated...it's just not as well know. Well, it might be an Oprah Book Club member. The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. I don't know how famous it is, but I looked over at my book shelf and it was the first one to come to mind.

Day 20: The environment you most enjoy reading in.

Anywhere that is cuddly. When it's raining. I would love to have a little reading nook by a window someday. With lots of pillows.

Day 21: The most disturbing book you’ve ever read.

The Jungle. Hands down. It's gross. And unnecessarily long.

Day 22: A book you once loved, but don’t anymore. What changed?

Um...none of them changed? I don't think there is a book I liked that I don't enjoy anymore.

Day 23: A book you once hated, but now like. What changed?

Believe it or not, I would not read Ella Enchanted when my mom brought it home the first time. I didn't think it sounded interesting, but then I gave it a chance. I'm so glad I did! :-)

Days 10-13 of 30 day book challenge

Okay, I'm going to cheat a little. But it's my challenge and my blog so I can do what I want! I behind a few days, so I'm just going to quickly go through the challenge for the rest of the week.

Day 10: Name five absolutely great film adaptations of books.

1. Angels and Demons: It definitely wasn't exactly like the book, but I think the movie actually did more for the plot than the book did.
2. The Harry Potter series: Again, not always exactly like the book, but that's okay. I still think they are very faithful to the overall meaning and plot of the series.
3. Pride and Prejudice: The newer version of this movie is fantastic! The older one with Colin Firth is good as well.

Okay, I'm having a hard time thinking today. I can't think of more for some reason and there are plenty out there. So instead, if you have one that you would put on your list, stick it in the comments!

Day 11: Name three absolutely awful film adaptations of books.

1. Ella Enchanted: As one of my favorite books of all time, I was very disappointed with how this book was portrayed on the big screen. Nothing like the book. It was a very sad day.
2. Twilight Saga: Okay, the books really weren't that fantastic to begin with, but the directing, the crappy acting, and cheesy screenwriting ruined it for me.
3. True Blood: Okay, it isn't a movie, but it is a TV show. Based off the Sookie Stackhouse novels, the TV show blows the entire series way out of proportion. More sex, more blood, more story lines. Too many story lines in fact.

Again, if you have something to add because there are plenty more out there, feel free to do so in the comments!

Day 12: Your favorite author(s).

You know, I have been asked this question a lot, and it is always really hard for me to answer. I don't really have a favorite author. I really enjoy Jane Austen novels. JK Rowling has the most successful book series of all time, and I love them. So I guess she could be on the list. British author Phillipa Gregory is one of my favorite historical writers. She has some great stuff on the Tudor period.

Day 13: Your favorite book from childhood.

I have already answered this many times over. Ella Enchanted, hands down is the winner. Although, Harry Potter is also from my childhood, so that one may have to win. But, the series extended into adulthood, so I think Ella Enchanted still wins this one.

Days 7-9 of 30 day book challenge

I wasn't keeping up with my challenge over the weekend. I was out of town, so here are all three days in one post.

 

Day 7: The worst book you’ve read in the last year.

I think I'm going to have to go with The History of Tom Jones by Henry Fielding. I was so bored with this book. First of all, it is separated into 18 separate books within the one book (yes, 18). I'm a little lazy, so I got this description off of Wikipedia.

Tom Jones is a foundling discovered on the property of a very kind, wealthy landowner, Squire Allworthy, in Somerset in England's West Country. Tom grows into a vigorous and lusty, yet honest and kind-hearted, youth. He develops affection for his neighbour's daughter, Sophia Western. On one hand, their love reflects the romantic comedy genre that was popular in 18th-century Britain. However, Tom's status as a bastard causes Sophia's father and Allworthy to oppose their love; this criticism of class friction in society acted as a biting social commentary.

It wasn't that funny, interesting, and Tom was way too good for an actual person. It is so long my professor actually let us skip parts of the novel that weren't relevant to the overall plot! Never again...

 

Day 8: Your favorite quotes from books (in no particular order and there are many more than just this small list).

• “It does not do well to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” –Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
• “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” –Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
• “Why spiders? Why couldn’t it be ‘follow the butterflies?’” –Ron Weasley, Harry Potter and the Chamber of the Secrets
• "From the very beginning— from the first moment, I may almost say— of my acquaintance with you, your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance, your conceit, and your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, were such as to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike; and I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry." –Elizabeth Bennet, Pride and Prejudice 
• Provided that nothing like useful knowledge could be gained from them, provided they were all story and no reflection, she had never any objection to books at all. –Catherine Morland, Northanger Abbey
• ABRAHAM: "Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?" SAMPSON: "I do bite my thumb, sir." ABRAHAM: "Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?" SAMPSON: [Aside to GREGORY] "Is the law of our side, if I say ay?" GREGORY: "No." SAMPSON: "No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir, but I bite my thumb, sir."  –Romeo and Juliet, Act I 

Day 9: Your favorite quotes about books.

• "A room without books is like a body without a soul." –Cicero
• "'Classic.' A book which people praise and don't read." –Mark Twain
• "Anyone who says they have only one life to live must not know how to read a book."
• Good as it is to inherit a library, it is better to collect one. –Augustine Birrell, Obiter Dicta, "Book Buying"
• Never judge a book by its movie. –J.W. Eagan
• Reading is to the mind what exercise is to the body. –Richard Steele, Tatler, 1710

Day 6 of 3 day book challenge

Day 6: The best book you’ve read in the last year.

This really is a tough one. I've read a lot of books in the past year, but the majority were for classes, so I don't really like to count those unless they were really good. I think there are a few that come straight to my mind. These are the first two books that popped into my head when I thought about the books I have read for class.

Atonement by Ian McEwan
This is a really great story about passing judgement on something that you may not understand. It's a war story. A love story. And it is overall a fantastic read.

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen
I really enjoyed this novel. I thought it was funny and not overly romantic, but just enough to make the story interesting. It was pretty easy to read, but to think it is comical, you probably should read an old Gothic romance story first.

Wit's End by Karen Joy Fowler
I haven't actually finished reading this novel, but I really like it so far. I wish I could tell you what it is about, but I don't quite understand it myself, yet. But it's good.

Harry Potter: the end of an era

Well, I waited in line for 8 hours yesterday. Yes, I said eight. Compared to some people in line, this was nothing! And what did I wait in line for? Harry freakin' Potter, of course!

As the last movie of the Harry Potter series ever, I knew I had to be there at midnight to see it. I remember seeing the first movie way back in 2001. I was eleven years old, the same age as the kids playing the golden trio. After reading the first book in 1999, I didn't actually pick up the second one until after I saw the first movie. From then on, I was hooked.

I don't really want to get too sappy because anyone who reads this will probably think I am absolutely barmy (yeah, I pulled out barmy). But I was excited and very sad that it had to end. When the seventh book came out, I told myself that I still had movies to see. It wasn't really over. Well, now it really is. And the question on a lot of people's minds is, what do I do now?

It's a little sad to think that we have to ask that question. I mean, we will move on with our lives and be done with it. But I still thought it. Harry Potter was my childhood. I looked forward to every single one of those books and every movie. The books were what started me on reading. If you think about it, maybe I would have never been an English major if it weren't for those books. If I didn't enjoy reading and writing so much, I would have never picked this major, and HP was was kick started by drive for reading.

Okay, enough of that. On to the movie. If you don't want to be spoiled as to any of the actual details, I would stop reading now. Maybe come back later to see what I thought about it.

I waited in line with my friend Liz who is an avid Potter junkie which means she is very critical of the movies. If you are anything like that, you may not enjoy parts of it. They do deviate from the book in quite a few places. The overall meaning is basically the same, they just go about it in a different way. I'm not quite as critical; I don't mind the movies going slightly of course because it makes for a good movie.

Where I do get annoyed is when they leave information out that probably would have been very useful to explain to people that hadn't read the books. Liz told me last night that she thinks they dumb it down too much. And to a certain extent I would agree, particularly when Ollivander says, "Voldemort is after you Harry." Well no kidding. But, there are other times, they don't dumb it down enough and just skim over parts that were kind of needed.

This movie is the shortest of all of them which ticked me off a little. First of all, it's the last one! Go big or go home! I would have gladly sat through a three hour movie of awesomeness, but apparently the director wasn't having that. Secondly, with all of the action, the short movie just flies by. I wish they had slowed it down at the beginning, laid the scene, given the trio a concrete plan like in the book.

But, having said that. There really were some fantastic parts to the movie. SPOILERS!

The scene in which the battle begins, and the teachers protect the school was fantastic. You really could feel the finality in it all. When Voldemort kills Snape, I seriously felt bad for the guy. Now that's acting! Alan Rickman, you are the man! The scene literally was perfect. And just following his death, Snape's memories of the past with Lily and James Potter...wow. This sequence was nothing short of fantastic. The way the director integrated the kids within the sequence and intertwining it with more recent memories was a great way to connect the characters.

The other big scene that brought the whole thing home was when Harry went to face Voldemort, knowing that he had to die. It didn't happen quite the same way in the book, but it looked amazing. The castle in ruins, families crying over the deaths of loved ones, and all the while Harry is walking into the Forbidden Forest. Along with this scene is the one in which Harry opens the snitch that Dumbledore gave him in the first part. Inside is the resurrection stone that brings back people from the dead momentarily. I was crying, sniffling, and making a fool of myself. I always admired the way Rowling has Harry willingly die at the end. There is not a word to describe the bravery in that act, but Danielle Radcliffe did a great job as he was facing the end.

The ending battle scene between Voldemort and Harry is way longer in the movie, but we don't get that nice scene in which Harry calls out Tom Riddle.

“You don’t learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?”

“You dare -”

 “Yes, I dare,” said Harry. “I know things you don’t know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important things that you don’t. Want to hear some, before you make another big mistake?”

That was a little sad. In the book, the scene worked well, but it may have been too cheesy for the movie. What they did replace it with was ten minutes of Harry and Voldy going after it.

All in all, the end is the same. The wizarding world is saved, and I am left without any more movies or books. I'm giving it four out of five stars (maybe 4 1/2 after I see it again). You have to go into the movie understanding things will be different, and I think you will enjoy it more.

All is well.

Day 5 of 30 day book challenge

Day 5: If you were stranded on a desert island, what five books would you take with you?

So I might cheat a little. I would take the Harry Potter books. They are my favorite books that I could keep rereading...as proven by multiple rereadings over the years. I would take paperback copies because then I could take all seven, right?

I suppose if I had to narrow it down to five, I would take Ella Enchanted and the last four HP books. I love a lot of books, but there are some books that I could reread forever, and those are the books I like to reread.

Day 4 of 30 day book challenge

Day 4: Characters you hate.
This is a tough one. I don't really hate a lot of characters, unless they are just plain evil or stupid.

Voldemort from the Harry Potter series
He's evil. His name is evil. He looks evil. He is just pure evil. I don't like him.

Bellatrix/Snape from the Harry Potter series
Okay, Bellatrix is legitimately evil. And I can never get Helena Bonham Carter blowing up Hagrid's hut in the movie while squealing and jumping for joy. That is the epitome of Bellatrix Lastrange. Snape: I thought he was evil. I really did. I hated when he killed Dumbledore. I hated that he hated Harry. And I hate that Harry named his son after him, and I don't care that he really turned out to be on the right side. I still don't like him.

Mr. Rochester from Jane Eyre
This guy irks me. He is much older than Jane, has a crazy wife in the attic, obsessive, verbally abusive, and he is described as ugly. Why would anyone go for him? He has lots of money. Way to go, Jane.

Bella Swan from Twilight
This had to come up at some point. But let me state this, I enjoyed the Twilight Saga. But before the hate starts coming out, let me explain why. In a twisted sort of way, the story is kinda sweet (as long as you don't think of the age difference). Vampires have always been fascinating for people, and the new take on them makes people edgy (not to mention the fan girls that are crazy). I do admit, the writing sucks. The characters aren't all that great either, but it is every girl's fantasy to be given everything you ever wanted and to be loved forever, right? Anyway, Bella is stubborn, whiny, doesn't have her own life, and has no backbone. She probably should have stayed away from Edward, just sayin'.

Day 3 of 30 day book challenge

Day 3: Your favorite characters (and which books they’re from).


I don't really remember a lot of characters from books unless I really liked the book. I don't really have a lot of favorites, but here are a few from my favorite books.
 
Harry Potter trio from the Harry Potter Series
I'm cheating a little and using three characters: Harry, Ron, and Hermione. They all have something unique about them, and they compliment each other well. Love them all.
 
Jay Gatsby from The Great Gatsby
Jay is so quirky and completely weird that it is difficult not to like him. Sometimes you think he's the bad guy, then the good guy, and then you aren't really sure. It's awesome. :-)
 
Ella from Ella Enchanted
This is definitely the childish side of my reading habits making an appearance. I love this book and how strong the female lead is throughout. She finds her voice and strength throughout.
 
Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice
Lizzie is just so delightfully sarcastic, witty, and clueless at times that I have a hard time not liking her.

Day 2 of 30 day book challenge

Day 2: Your 5 least favorite books of all time.

This one is actually a little difficult. I have this nasty habit of picking up a book, reading the first few pages, and then putting it down if I don't like it. I will not read something that does not interest me, so it has to capture my attention quickly. This list will consist of books I had to read for class because I had no choice but to read them.

The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
I had to read this three different times for classes in school. I never finished it. It's long, it's boring, and a lot of it was unnecessary. The story of survival is amazing, but it wasn't for me.

The History of Tom Jones by Henry Fielding
Really, really, really long. Boring book. Even my professor had us skip a few chapters because they were boring. Enough said.

Waiting for the Barbarians by J.M. Coetzee
This book I just had a hard time understanding. There was stuff in there that I didn't get, didn't want to be in there, and just plain weirdness. It's a political metaphor on war, maybe that's why I had no interest in it.

Great Expectations by Charles Dickens
Well written for sure, but I felt like nothing happened. Why do people feel the need to create ridiculously long novels that do not need to be long. Get to the point, Dickens. Okay, this one really wasn't all that long, but it felt like it was.

The Jungle by Upton Sinclair
This book has some great points about immigration, the labor force, and the way we processed meat, but it doesn't mean I liked it. Again, long and boring when it didn't need to be.

If you take a look at this list, you will probably think I don't like classic books, but that isn't the case. I do happen to enjoy a lot of books that are considered classics. What I don't like is when people just read them because they are "classics." Just because they are considered by some random panel of judges to be in the lists of greatest books of all time does not mean they should be there. There are good qualities to all of these books, but to me, they didn't mean much. They obviously do to other people because the world continues to read them.

30 day book challenge - Day 1

Hello blog followers!

As my summer drifts by, I have come to realize that most of my time has been spent working. My summer has been slightly boring, albeit busy. Since I have been bored so much, I decided to do a thirty day challenge involving books! This one is going to be very difficult because reading is one of my all time favorite things, and picking and choosing between the books I have read is difficult. The list of the thirty days is below, but I will start out with numero uno: your 10 favorite books of all time.

This is not an easy one. I always say I don't have favorite books because I can't choose between them, but since I have to pick, here it goes (these are not in order)...

Harry Potter by JK Rowling
I have to go with the HP series. I grew up reading these books. I read the first one way back in 1999 when I was in fourth grade! The last movie comes out this week, and I'm feeling a little depressed about it. I love the characters, the plot, the magic, and basically everything to do with the world. Not the best written books on the planet, but very entertaining.

The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch
This book is simply fantastic. I laughed, I smiled, and I cried. It is a heart-warming book and truly inspiring.

Night by Elie Wiesel
Let me tell you, this book is phenomenal. Wiesel has an incredible story, and he shared it brilliantly with the world. I cried, but it was worth every tear.

Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine
I. Love. This. Book. It's a YA book, but when I read it when I was younger, I fell in love with it. I still read it from time to time when I need to go back to my childhood.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
I always think people judge me when I say this is one of my favorites. I think most people assume that I only like it because it's always picked as one of the greatest books of all time. I don't know if I would go that far, but it is excellently written. The characters are so vibrant and quirky it makes them realistic. Great book.

Angels and Demons by Dan Brown
The book that comes before The Da Vinci Code, and just because it comes after does not mean its second best. It is definitely the better of the two books. Mystery, scandal, and the Roman Catholic Church. Love it.

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
Another classic, but Jane Austen really is the queen of romance writing. I love the story, but I love the writing even more.

The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde
This technically isn't a book, it's a play, but it is really good! The sense of humor throughout is fantastic, and it was a pleasure reading it.

And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie
When I was younger, I was into mystery novels. This is the only Christie book I have read, and I regret that. She is a brilliant writer, and I hope I get the time to read more.

Northanger Abbey by Jane Austen
I'm slightly embarrassed to admit this, but I had never heard of this Austen novel before I read it. I really enjoyed it. Austen's humor is in full force for this parody on gothic romance novels.

Well that was a little easier than I expected it to be. I definitely have a lot of books that I love to read, but I guess these would have to be on top. I'm sure there are more to be added to this list, but I could go on for a long time if I didn't have a limit.

Day 1: Your 10 favorite books of all time.
Day 2: Your 5 least favorite books of all time.
Day 3: Your favorite characters (and which books they’re from).
Day 4: Characters you hate.
Day 5: If you were stranded on a desert island, what five books would you take with you?
Day 6: The best book you’ve read in the last year.
Day 7: The worst book you’ve read in the last year.
Day 8: Your favorite quotes from books.
Day 9: Your favorite quotes about books.
Day 10: Name five absolutely great film adaptations of books.
Day 11: Name three absolutely awful film adaptations of books.
Day 12: Your favorite author(s).
Day 13: Your favorite book from childhood.
Day 14: A book you regret not having read sooner.
Day 15: A book you haven’t read, but is on your “will read” list.
Day 16: A book you haven’t read and have no intention of ever reading.
Day 17: A book you want to like, but can’t get into for whatever reason. Why can’t you get into it?
Day 18: A book you think is highly overrated.
Day 19: A book you think is woefully underrated.
Day 20: The environment you most enjoy reading in.
Day 21: The most disturbing book you’ve ever read.
Day 22: A book you once loved, but don’t anymore. What changed?
Day 23: A book you once hated, but now like. What changed?
Day 24: Your favorite series.
Day 25: The nerdiest book you’ve ever read.
Day 26: Your favorite type of non-fiction book.
Day 27: Your favorite genre.
Day 28: The first book you can remember reading on your own.
Day 29: An author you wish was more well-known.
Day 30: The book you’re reading right now.

Hopefully

In the past week alone, I have been asked the same question more times than I had heard it in the past few months. It is a dreaded question for all soon-to-be college seniors, all recent college graduates, and even high school seniors. You know exactly what I'm talking about. It is almost always the first question a new acquaintance asks me after learning my name:

"So, what are you going to do after you graduate?" or "What are you going to do with your life?"

I smile on the outside, but I cringe on the inside. It's something that I know I must think about, but I don't want to. I feel like sticking my fingers in my ears, running around in circles, all the while blabbering: "I can't hear you!"

Too much? Maybe, but there's always going to be a little part of me that doesn't want to grow up. But, at the same time, I don't want to stay in school forever. Homework for eternity? No thank you! I have the perfect solution: stay in college forever, hang out with friends, go to fun classes that have no homework, have a cafeteria that cooks all my meals, play volleyball, throw in some study abroad, and then repeat. Okay, not realistic, but sounds like a ton of fun.

So what's a girl to do when faced with the dreaded question? (Yes, it's so serious it needs to be italicized.)

Well, I answer like this, "I want to go into publishing. Hopefully."

And yes, I always add the "hopefully." The chances of me becoming a book editor are slim to none. I realize that one. The publishing biz is a tough one to crack into, even tougher when I'm really not that fantastic at it. I love reading. I love editing. But I never really thought about the fact that it might not be enough to just love to do something. You kinda have to be good at it. Imagine that.

My problem is this: I like too many things. How was I supposed to narrow it down? If I could have, I would have been an education/history/Spanish/English major with an emphasis in writing/procrastination/marketing/graphic design/photography/volleyball. Impossible, yet, I almost wish it wasn't. Even if it was possible, there is no way in hell I could manage it. Let's be serious, my emphasis in procrastination would kick in.

But let me tell you something I have learned as a not-so-wise guru, ungraduated college senior, and a generalized know-it-all: real life kinda sucks. Eloquent, no?

Unfortunate there really is no other option. Here is a list of things I want to do after graduating, followed by the reason why I can't do it.

1. Travel around the world...and yet I have no money. When someone invents a way to grow money on trees, I am planting a huge one!
2. Invent money growing trees...I'm not at all sciency. But totally possible. Someone...get on that.
3. Play Olympic volleyball...oh wait, my volleyball skills aren't up to par.
4. Be a photographer for National Geographic...travel and photography rolled into one! But, my picture taking skills aren't the greatest.
5. Write a book...As much as I love to write, my own ideas just aren't good. That's why I like to edit. I can tell other people their ideas are terrible. (Okay, joke. But, seriously.)
6. Become the world's ultimate translator for sarcasm...totally doable. I'm already half way there.

Of course, that list could go forever. I still haven't given up my dream of being a bizillionaire because of my fantabulous singing skills. I just had to put those dreams on hold while I went to school.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy being an adult. I'm making money (well, the little money I get paid on minimum wage), I get to make my own decisions (as long as the government doesn't take that away), and I get to start my own life (as long as mommy and daddy say that's okay).

But to be completely honest, I would be very happy with graduating, finding a job, getting married, and having the 2.5 kids everyone is supposed to have. But, there will probably be a part of me that thinks, why didn't I do this when I was younger? This is another reason I'm very glad I studied abroad--I got my chance to experience another life. Although, it just whet my appetite for traveling.

This is all probably a little too serious for someone that isn't even 22 yet, but it's something to think about. I don't have many regrets in my life, and I would like to keep it that way. I have my entire life ahead of me, but it feels like the whole world is pushing back saying, "[Fill in the appropriate action] now!"

Everything has to be done this moment. But why? I want to enjoy my life, relax a little. And this may all sound very privileged, and maybe it is. I am used to living a good life. My parents were nice enough to provide everything for me. Because of that, I was able to go to a good school, study abroad, and do what I want with my life. And for that I'm very thankful.

Here is something else that I have learned: real life can be really fantastic. My friends and family are amazing. I love them all very much. I am so blessed to be surrounded by people that love me. I think it can be summed up by a very insightful Beatles song:

All you need is love, all you need is love,

All you need is love, love, love is all you need.

When I look around, I see a really amazing life. I can be what I want to be, when I want to be it. Back off, world. Here's my advice (just because I'm giving it, doesn't mean you should take it): do what you want because you love it, when you want to.

So the next time someone asks me the question, I'll smile, and answer, "I want to go into publishing. Hopefully."

Book Review: Inconvenient Marriage of Charlotte Beck

Charlotte Beck, a girl on the verge of adulthood, is having trouble meeting social protocol. A seventeen year old American making her social debut in London, Charlotte cannot seem to keep her independent spirit in check. As the only daughter to a wealthy English business man living in Colorado, Charlotte has never wanted for anything, except an education. With an affinity for numbers, Charlotte hopes to attend college for a degree in mathematics and then run her father's business. Her father has other plans.

Marriage.

Charlotte wants to have a career before family. At the time, the proposition was almost unheard of. Enter the male lead: rich boy and astronomer Alex Hambly. An Englishman holding his crumbling family together, Alex needs to marry in order to save his family from financial ruin. Charlotte and Alex drive each other crazy (as the characters always do), but Charlotte's father makes them an offer too tempting to turn down.

If they agree to marry, Charlotte is free to pursue a degree for four years and he will pay off the debts the Hambly family owes. Reluctantly, the two agree, secretly planning to annul the marriage as soon as they can. And as these stories always do, feelings change, the characters try to deny it, but in the end realize that the marriage may not have been so inconvenient after all.

My reasoning for picking this book was simple: I didn't really want to read any of the other choices I was given on my blogging for books program. I knew exactly how this one would turn out from the title of the book, and I was right. By Kathleen Y'Barbo, the book is written decently well. The style is simple and straight to the point, but there was quite a bit of humor. A lot of cliches (A little annoying when you have heard them all. Some people can pull that off, others can't. Y'Barbo is in the latter category).

It is your typical romance story. Girl and boy meet. Drive one another up a wall. Vow never to speak to one another. Thrust together against their will. Arranged marriage. Happily ever after. The end.

Oh, I probably should have said spoiler alert! Oh well. You probably should have figured it by now anyway.

Overall, I'm not going to say it was a bad book, because it wasn't. It was just way too predictable. I have read all of that before. If you have some time to kill, want a romance, and don't really care about the plot, go ahead and pick it up. If I hadn't been given it for free, I probably wouldn't have bought it.

2 1/2 stars (out of 5)

Just a quick side note: the blogging for books program asks readers of the reviews to rate the reviews that they read. If you could rate mine, I would appreciate it. If I get high enough reviews, I could win prizes and whatnot, so I would love it if you did! I believe that if you click here it will go to the reviews I have done in the past. If not, let me know.



I received this book for free from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for this review and received no monetary compensation. I just do this for my own enjoyment. If you feel you might be interested, visit their website, Blogging for Books.

Book Review: The Daughter's Walk

I am finally back into blogging about books, and my first read of the summer is a historical fiction coming from the wonderful writer Jane Kirkpatrick. Anyone that talks to me for a bit will understand how much of a history buff I am and that is the reason I chose this novel. For the most part, the events of the novel are historically accurate with a few minor characters thrown in here and there to give the plot some more depth.

The book spans a larger period of time, beginning with 19 year old Clara, a young woman on a walk across the United States, from Spokane, Wash., to New York in the last 1890s. The first half of the novel details the 3,500 mile journey of Clara and her mother, Helga. The family needs money, and they walk across the country on a wager, hoping to save their farm. I do have to admit that the walking was a bit tiresome in some parts...I did skim at some points. Other times there was a lot happening, and it was difficult to put down for the night.

The second half of the novel describes Clara's venture into the business world. She exiles herself from her family and lives an independent life, something unheard of during the time.

It is supposed to be a spiritual novel, but I found that there really was little mention of God. If I hadn't known that before hand, I probably wouldn't have noticed much of the references. This is one of the lose ends that really bothered me. There is no spiritual conclusion in Clara's life. God exists, but no major mention of Him later in the novel kind of spoils that plot point.

Overall, a good read. If you have some time, pick it up, especially if you are a history buff. 3 1/2-4 stars from me!



I received this book for free from WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for this review and received no monetary compensation. I just do this for my own enjoyment. If you feel you might be interested, visit their website, Blogging for Books.

Making a Cuppa

Hi all! So, I thought I would share another travel writing essay that I worked on. It's not as good as the other one because I didn't spend a lot of time on this one, but it is a bit of a contrast between the US working enviroment and the one in the UK. I do have to admit that not everything in this story is exactly true. Yes, the women were fighting over who they would sleep with, but they didn't really talk to me. I was eavesdropping, although they knew that I was listening at the time.

Also, I couldn't remember some of their names, so they are made up, except Pauline. She really was my supervisor, but I really don't remember struggling to make a cup of tea. I also only ever made one cup for anyone in the office. The steps that I used in making tea were real. My theatre teacher really did give us steps because someone made his tea so terribly he thought that he would give us a lesson in that rather than theatre. But, despite all that is not completely true, you still get the gist. Happy reading!

Making a Cuppa

“When I look through my own recipe for the perfect cup of tea, I find no fewer than eleven outstanding points. ….These are not the only controversial points to arise in connexion with tea drinking, but they are sufficient to show how subtilized the whole business has become. It is worth paying attention to such details as warming the pot and using water that is really boiling, so as to make quite sure of wringing out of one's ration the twenty good, strong cups of that two ounces, properly handled, ought to represent.”- George Orwell, A Nice Cup of Tea

I was working on a spreadsheet of names and phones numbers. My eyes started to go crossed and blurred at the sight of so many letters and numbers. None of it seemed to make sense anymore. I pushed my chair away from my desk and rubbed my eyes. I had been staring at the computer screen for over three hours without taking a break, and my dry eyes were paying for it. Everyone else in the office didn’t seem to be taking their jobs quite as seriously, so I took the opportunity to get a cup of tea from the office kitchen.

“Chelsea, would you mind getting me a cuppa while you’re up?” Pauline, my internship supervisor, gave me a friendly smile when she requested her cup of tea.

“Of course, would anyone else like anything while I’m up?” In my two weeks working at the office of 4Children, a non-profit organization run to benefit children of the United Kingdom, I had learned always to ask if anyone would like anything if you are getting up to get something from the kitchen. I had been asked the question, “Would you like something while I’m up?” so many times in just four days, I was beginning to wonder if it was a form of procrastination.

As I made the short trip to the kitchen, I noticed two women chatting at their desk. Actually, most of the room could hear them. It was a Monday afternoon, and most of the office was anxious to avoid any sort of work, so the staff heavily encouraged any form of conversation. “So,” a young blonde woman started, “If you had to pick just one celebrity to sleep with, who would it be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. There are just too many juicy ones aren’t there?” The dark-haired girl grinned and slapped the blonde’s arm.

“Oh, being cheeky, are we?” Both women turned to the sound of a new voice sitting thirty feet away. The older motherly figure sat at her desk howling with laughter. The entire office was now intrigued by the conversation. The graying mother answered the question with ease, “Well, it would have to be Johnny Depp, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Marlene. He’s practically 30 years younger than you,” The blonde rolled her eyes playfully; I could tell she wanted to goad Marlene on.

“Oh, fuck it. Who cares? I will never shag him just like you will never shag him. But, he is delicious looking. Probably bloody fantastic in bed.”

I gave them an exaggerated shocked look. Marlene turned to me and gave me a wink, “Sorry, Chelsea. Not used to hearing such language?”

I had become quite accustomed to curse words and suggestive conversations now and again in the office, but to hear it from a woman older than my grandmother made me do a double take. I could see myself walking by office desks in an American work place, hearing conversations like, “The humidity is brutal today,” or “How about that game last night?” or maybe, “Did you see that new Johnny Depp movie. He is so good-looking!” I wouldn’t mind these conversations—all almost too boring to attract my attention. Americans were so careful about everything they said because one wrong step could result in offending someone else.

Americans have the stereotype that the British are prim and proper—daintily eating their crumpets and sipping their tea (pinky finger extended, of course), saying things like “Cheerio, chap!” while dressed in their Sunday best. On the other hand, the British imagine Americans as cowboys saying “Howdy, y’all!” or as the lazy, unintelligent worker that sits and does nothing all day. The American work ethic was nothing like the approach the British took; the British say we work too hard. Americans say hard work is the American dream. Either way, the stereotypes weren't completely accurate.

My eyebrows rose at her language, but I chose not to remark on her cheeky comment. “Oh, carry on. Don’t mind little old me. I won’t be scarred for life or anything,” I gave her a cheesy pouty, and she laughed at my sarcastic look. I continued on my way to the kitchen, and behind me I heard a few more women start in on the conversation as well. I shook my head. It baffled me that they could start conversations in the office that had absolutely nothing to do with work.

I started to make the hot water in electrical steamer, and then I realized I had never made a cup of tea for my boss before. I had no idea how she liked it. I knew the English were big on milk in teas, so I found a packet of some dark tea in the cupboard and placed it in the bottom of a mug. I tried to remember back to the week before when my theatre teacher lectured the class on how to make the perfect cup of tea. He had made sure to make his points clear: #1—the water had to be vigorously boiling before being poured into the cup.

I don’t know if these tricks were passed down or if any of the tips really mattered, but in that moment I really hoped that it would help me conquer that little cup of tea; I wanted that sense of pride that I had made my boss a great cuppa. But I also just wanted to know that I could fit in—their meal times revolved around tea, their late afternoon chats always involved a cuppa, and I wanted to be standing next to them talking about which celebrity wore too much makeup or had on a hideous dress. I didn’t want to be the American intern for the semester. I wanted to be just the intern.

The water was heating up quickly, and I could see the steam rising from the spout. I could hear it boiling, but decided that it wasn’t vigorous enough. I waited until it sounded like popcorn popping and then took it off the electric base.

Tip #2: Always pour the water from high above the cup with the teabag sitting at the bottom. Making sure the teabag was flat in the mug, I took the steaming water and held the cup to the counter while I poured the water from a foot in the air. There was no one else in the kitchen, but I still worried that I looked completely ridiculous, so I poured the water quickly and set the pot down.

Tip #3: There is a perfect amount of time to let the tea bag simmer in the water. I let the tea bag sit for exactly four minutes because according to my teacher, “Four minutes is the perfect amount of time to let tea sit.” I watched the hands on my watch tick by slowly while I also flipped through The Sun, one of the many newspapers on the table. I glanced back at my watch and realized it had been more than four minutes, so I rushed to the cup and yanked out the tea bag, sighing in relief that it hadn’t sat for five minutes because then it might be too strong.

Tip #4: Don’t put too much milk in, but not too little. Next, I poured in the fat free milk from one of the twenty or so bottles sitting in the fridge. Milk and tea disgusted me at first—it didn’t seem quite right. What happened to sugar? What was so special about milk? What was too much milk? I wasn’t sure what to do, so I just waited until the mixture looked more like light brown coffee rather than the green tea I was used to. The creaminess of the mixture reminded me of the hard caramel candies, the white wrapping through the brown in a heavy streak.

Tip #5: Don’t put in sugar unless asked. I wasn’t sure what the Brits had against sugar. Maybe as an American I was desensitized to sugar. Maybe it was too sweet with milk and sugar. Maybe the Brits liked to taste their tea rather than artificially flavor it. Whatever it was, I did not put any in, but quickly wondered if maybe she really did want sugar.

I was unsure of my tea-making skills, but I didn’t have a choice but to serve the tea. Carefully picking up the two cups of tea that I had expertly made, I made my way back to my desk. I set the first cup next to Pauline; she gratefully accepted the cup with a thanks. I went around to my desk and nervously awaited her reaction. She brought the cup to her lips, took a small sip, and placed it back on her desk. She went back to work, editing one of the newest press releases or news articles, I assumed.

I stared stupidly, hoping for any kind of feedback. She caught my gaze. She smiled, but it quickly turned into a playfully concerned look and said, “Don’t you need to be working on updating those press releases?”

Guatever!

I'm going to try to keep this a brief as possible. It's a few days worth of writing, so I apologize for the abruptness in my stories/descriptions. Some of this is from an essay that I wrote about my trip, other parts aren't. If it seems like the writing styles are different and switching quickly, that is probably why. If you would like more information, feel free to comment, and I can fill in any blanks.

So the last time I left off on the blog for Guatemala, I was entering San Jorge La Laguna. We drove through the mountains and around volcanoes, and we stopped on an overlook. What a fantastic view of Lake Atitlan and San Jorge! I was already convinced that Guatemala was a beautiful country with people stuck in tragic circumstances. On the overlook, the native people were selling trinkets like I had seen in Antigua, hoping to tempt tourists into buying things they don't really need. Resisting the urge to buy everything from the cute little girls, we stepped back into our van and headed straight to San Jorge just below.

 Driving into San Jorge was a shock. I stared out the window at the little town on a steep hill and realized that I had signed up for a week of hard work and heartache. We passed houses, shacks, women in traditional outfits, children with worn down soccer balls, without shoes, with smiles, waving and yelling, stray lazy dogs laid in the middle of the streets to find the sun. The colorful outsides of the houses seemed to be hiding the dirt floors and rusted tin walls on the inside. We passed tiendas and children and women selling fruit on the street.

I was in a third world country—there was poverty and starvation and health problems. The old women looked ready to fall over with the weight of their heavy loads, and the men went by in the street waved to other men in greeting. The streets were dirt and rough cobblestone, impossible for climbing the steep hills and hard on the feet. The white and yellow church in the center on the town gleamed in the sunlight, a beacon to the world that San Jorge was still alive after hundreds of years.



Little guy, Alex! He was such a ham!

Young boys out of school for the day ran back and forth in the main dirt square, chasing a small ball that resembled a soccer ball and tried to score between posts—there were no nets for the goals. They laughed and ran to work off their built up energy, and when our group jumped out of the vans, they stared for a second, but continued playing with quick glances every so often thrown our way.

A man named Daniel welcomed us. He owns a travel company that arranges "authentic" homestays in San Jorge. He is a native to the small town, but works in the neighboring Panajachel, a larger tourist town. Our host mothers were there to greet us, and my roommate, Stephanie, and I were able to meet Anna. She is an older grandmother and lived in one of the wealthier families in town. She immediately started speaking Spanish. Stephanie is a Spanish major and was able to translate for me. Although I can easily translate Spanish, I can't speak it well. And I learned how much I had lost in the past two years. I could not communicate, but I followed most of their conversations. We walked through their game to get to the house we were staying in, and they giggled as they spoke in the native Mayan language, Katichiqel. The children pointed and in whispered voices said, “Gringos.” I'm not sure if it an insult to them; it may just be a statement of fact to them, and I wasn't offended, just curious.

Entering the house, I immediately regretted my suitcase. I felt like I was bragging. A family of a dozen or more lived in the small area, and here I packed a suitcase for a week of work. Stephanie had a bed to ourselves, not a mattress but thick woven straw and pads on top of them. It wasn't the most comfortable, but it was clean and generous. After a hard day of work, I didn't care all that much anyway. We went up to the school to visit our worksite almost immediately.

With over 600 children attending the school in the morning for their primary school, the school was out of room to place all of the students. The students and community had been gathering trash—plastic bottles and wrappers that wouldn’t degrade—and stuffing bottles with small bits of waste to make them sturdy. Once the bottles were stuffed, they were to be used as “eco-bricks” and put inside wire underneath plaster for the walls of the schoolroom. Our group decided to help with their sustainability efforts.

After trudging our way up a hill, around corners, through uneven streets, avoiding stray dogs, passing by small, shy children in doorways, we came to the school. A small building with no more than ten rooms, and a “playground” that consisted of a rusted and warped slide and rough monkey bars that sat outside dingy and dirty bathrooms. The kids played with a small ball, kicking it back and forth, hitting windows, running down stairs, not caring that their plastic ball wasn’t really a soccer ball. We climbed around to the back of the school where the new room would be. Roots from trees stuck out of the ground, rocks blocked our path—there was no good way of getting around. A steep hill was our worksite. Two tall trees had to be cut for the room and pine needles and woodchips from the bark littered the ground.

Danielito, Daniel's little boy.

My mouth dropped. Our eyes displayed our disbelief. Digging in this area was going to be more difficult than we had planned. I had just wanted a spring break that would help others while also getting me out of the country. This was actual work. The mayor and contractor were at the bottom of the hill, beaming at our presence. They had been expecting us for a long time, and now that they had the free labor, they could start their much needed schoolroom. Daniel, our English translator and never without a smile, told us that the people were so happy we were there. The mayor, in his traditional Mayan dress, nodded his head even though he didn’t speak English. Daniel stood to the side and grinned widely and laughed. I wasn’t sure why, but the men were speaking in Katichiqel, making me believe that one of them had said something about us—probably something to do with the scared looks on our faces. “Alright,” Daniel clapped and rubbed his hands together with an enthusiastic look, “Let’s get started.”

For the next four days, we worked like crazy. We never reached our goal of completing the room, and suffered a setback when our trenches caved in on the second day for the foundation. We passed stones, made cement by hand (hard work!), dug a lot of trenches, and sat around waiting. We mostly tried to stay out of their way until they needed us to pass cement or rocks or bricks. I did enjoy pick-axing though. That was a ton of fun!

Some of the group digging the trenches.

 After three days of hard work, the dirt and grime were starting to seep into my pores; I was more than ready for a break. At lunchtime, we began our decent into the town to Daniel’s house where lunch was waiting for us. My stomach grumbled when I smelled the mouthwatering chicken cooking from inside the small kitchen. We were tired. Little conversation, but a lot of eating. We had our fill, but Daniel’s wife insisted they had plenty more if we wanted it. Brushing off her attempts graciously, the group headed outside. I sat on the church steps and watched the young children play on their makeshift soccer field. They laughed loudly when some of our group joined their game, calling some of them loco or feo—crazy and ugly.

While they played, the rest of the group waited for Sharon, a woman from Mayan Families, an organization established to help families in San Jorge and other small towns like it. Sharon rounded the corner and greeted us with an Australian accent, “Hi all. I hope I wasn’t keeping you waiting long. Why don’t we run up to the school quick to talk about our program, yeah?”

She smiled, but it never reached her eyes. She looked exhausted. We followed her as she weaved in and out of streets towards the preschool. We walked in and twenty enthusiastic “holas” reached our ears. Young children sat at tiny desks in a brightly colored room eating a snack of mango and watermelon. Sharon started speaking in Spanish to the children, and then turned to us, “This is a preschool for hand-picked children that were not getting enough nourishment at home. They all come and receive a vitamin supplement and two meals. They also get a head start on learning Spanish, so they may not understand you at times.”

Some children that visited near our worksite.

We waved, and the children laughed and blushed at the small gesture. Sharon said something to them that made them giggle louder. Their smiles were infectious, and I grinned just as widely as I watched two boys chase each other around the colored room. A girl a bit older than the rest of the children walked up to Sharon and hugged her. Sharon explained that her name is Claudia, “She is a young girl that lost both of her parents at a very young age. She lives with her grandmother who is too old to work, so Claudia couldn’t afford to go to school,” Sharon sighed and stroked the girl’s hair.

“We were able to sponsor Claudia to go to school. We sponsor 300 children in San Jorge alone, thanks to generous sponsors and donators,” Sharon smiled and gave Claudia another hug and sent her on her way. I watched as Claudia walked away—her shoes were worn and her clothes hung loose, but her smile brought our attention away from her poverty. She was happy to go to school, excited at the chance to learn. She picked up a backpack at the door, turned and waved at the door, disappearing down the street.

“Well,” Sharon started, “Shall we continue to our elderly lunch program?”

We followed Sharon out the door, and the children waved as we went, thanking us for coming and laughing as they did so. We wound our way back through the streets, only to find ourselves exactly where we started. Continuing our trip, we walked just by Daniel’s house and entered a green framed door, the paint chipped by the weather and age. A dozen older women sat eating lunch. “This is our elderly lunch program. Five days a week we provide lunch to elderly woman that cannot get lunch on their own,” Sharon patted a woman on the shoulder and gave her a small squeeze. Many stood precariously as we entered. A woman with a wrinkled face and hunched back took my hand gently and kissed it, saying “Gracias” quietly. Her hands were rough with wrinkles, but smooth from years of use—worn down by hard work and stress. Tears welled in my eyes as she pulled me into a gentle hug. They smiled and waved as we exited the door.

We were exhausted and happy to be moving in to a hotel with hot showers and comfortable beds in neighboring town down the mountain, Panajachel. Our homestays were over after two days, and the last two days of work were spent in the hotel. The group piled into the back of old Ford pickup trucks, fixed with 2x4 handles at head-level. I gripped the handle tightly knowing we were going to stand the entire drive (video at the bottom). The bumpy, dirt road made me nervous; I had always been taught to wear a seatbelt and now I was riding like the locals—necessity over safety. The gorgeous views of Lake Atitlan and the volcanoes surrounding the lake distracted my thoughts. The sun was setting—a light orange mixed with the clouds that lightly embraced the volcanoes. The water danced with the vanishing sunlight, shimmering with life. The truck took a hair-pin turn too quickly, jolting me back to the dangerous situation. We slowed as we entered Panajachel. People filled the streets along with restaurants, bars, and traditional markets. Horns blared when tourists walked too far into the street, and the open-sided local taxis—tuk tuks—buzzed in between people, narrowly dodging fatal accidents.

The town of just 15,000 people was alive, moving, busy with excitement. The energy was contagious, and I was anxious to explore the new city. After making our way down the tourist street, the trucks stopped abruptly. Wanting to stretch and explore, I jumped out of the back and continued down the street in the direction of the lake. The shopkeepers shouted, asking me to step into their store, “Adalante!” I smiled, shook my head, gave a curt “No gracias,” and kept walking. When I reached the water’s edge, I gasped at the change in scenery. The sky was a deep purple, fading into a light blue that mixed with the softly moving lake, making it difficult to distinguish the line between sky and water.

Leaning on the stone that separated tourists from the edge, I watched the volcanoes greedily cover up the sun as it dropped steadily into the earth. A young girl with a sad face tapped my arm and held up a bundle of homemade string bracelets. I shook my head. I didn’t want any. She was persistent and asked me to look at the bunch. I looked down at her. I couldn’t resist her innocent face—a ploy her parents used to catch sympathetic tourists. Young girls selling trinkets and candies on the streets were not uncommon. Many were not able to come home until they made enough money to bring to their families. “Cuanto cuesta?” I asked, wanting to know the cost.

She replied sadly, “Cinco Quetzales.”

Five Quetzales was too much to pay for a single bracelet in Guatemala; most of the goods that we bought were so cheap we were often excited at the prospect of spending less money for more product—typical Americans. But those five Quetzales translated to less than one American dollar; it wasn’t worth bargaining—she needed the money more than I did.

The young girl’s face was haunting. She held two bundles of bracelets in her hands; she handed me one. She watched me carefully as I picked out my bracelet, going for colors that would remind me of the sunset—blue, purple, orange, yellow. Her large eyes stared into mine—blank and almost hopeless. My heart wrenched at the sight, and I started to tear up at her expression. Her head rested on her extended arm on the wall, the light blue sky and volcanoes framed her face. The beautiful landscape gave way to the little girl with the round face and brown eyes—she was Guatemala; dark, beautiful, tragic, poor, lonely, starving. If she had been in the United States, she could be going to school, playing with other children. She wouldn’t have been barefoot. She wouldn’t have had to work to make sure her family survived. Her face turned to look up at me quickly and then back down at the unclaimed bracelets in my hand. I smiled and thanked her as I handed her the money owed. I wished I could have done more—I could have. I could have bought more bracelets, given her more money. But I didn’t.

The little girl with the bracelets.

I watched as she lethargically gave her grandmother the money she earned; she received no praise, just more bracelets and trinkets to sell to tourists. I tied the bracelet around my wrist and held it up to the skyline. I knew the colors matched perfectly, but I couldn’t see the colors. I only saw the young girl’s sad eyes.



Me on the boat ride, trying not to get wet!

 That night and the rest of the nights, we shopped and ate in Panajachel. It was a lot of fun, and I enjoyed the ride there and back the two days. On our last day in Panajachel, we had a tour across the lake. It was a good hour boat ride across the lake. We visited two towns on the lake and learned how they make the goods as well as dye the clothe used for clothes. It was a warm day filled with a lot of walking and bumpy boat rides. I finished up my tourist shopping that day, bought some coffee (I hear it was delicious), little trinkets, and got a little sunburned. I started feeling a little queasy on the boat trip back, but it was okay in the end. We left Panajachel in the afternoon and went back to Guatemala City for our flight the next morning.

The three hour drive was uneventful; it rained most of the way back, and I slept almost the entire time to avoid motion sickness. We drove into the city to a very nice hotel close to the airport at about 8 p.m. We decided we needed to eat, so we walked to a nice restaurant close by. We passed the US Embassy, and that is my first encounter with an Embassy. It looked more like a prison; the high walls, cameras, guards, and signs that said "No pictures" were intimidating. The restaurant was a steak place, and we had a lot of extra money, so I didn't mind spending a little more than usual. I ordered and chowed down on the delicious meal.

 
I went to bed quickly after packing; I wasn't feeling well about two hours after getting back from dinner. I checked my email for the first time since getting there, and passed out in bed. I woke up at about 2:30 in the morning, feeling like I was going to throw up. I really didn't want to but, it couldn't be avoided. I ended up throwing up multiple times as well as having diarrhea. I was miserable, and I was getting on a plane in less than ten hours. Stephanie was extremely helpful, getting my pills and water as well as helping me camp out in the bathroom. I learned in the morning that two other people were violently sick as well, and they had the exact same thing to eat. After being up until 5 a.m., I was tired, and my stomach was still not settled, but calm enough to know I wasn't going to throw up again.
 
As soon as we arrived at the airport, we were told our connecting flight was delayed by a few hours, meaning we wouldn't get into Chicago until after midnight. I was pat down multiple times in Guatemala and El Salvador (our connecting flight location). So, we camped out in San Salvador for a few hours. It wasn't enjoyable, but by that time, I wasn't really caring. I still had the urge to throw up and was suffering from diarrhea. I ate just the bread from Subway and played cards. The flight to Chicago was bumpy, and a lot of our group was throwing up in the baggies on the plane. I tried hard to block it all out, and made it off the plane without throwing up! We booked a hotel in Chicago once we heard of our delay, making us miss another day of classes.
 
I was so happy to be back in Pella. I enjoyed my trip, but the last 36 hours of it made me miserable. I was sick for more than a week once I got back. Looking back, I really enjoyed my experience. Next time though I will be more careful about my food!

 

I cut that short because this was getting long! Here is the video I promised (it's a bit shaky...I was in the back of a pick-up):

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 - Trailer

One word: EPIC!



I cannot wait to see this movie! I'm a little curious as to some of the new scenes that we get a glimpse of, aka Harry and Voldy falling to their death. It's gonna be "totally awesome!" (A Very Potter Musical reference. Don't know it, YouTube it).

Encountering Angels

I am in a Travel Writing class at school, and we write a lot of essays...most of them don't really go anywhere, but we edit a few and turn them in. I turned this essay into the creative writing contest at school and won third place! Here it is if you would care to read...enjoy!

Encountering Angels

The angel stared at me—straight through me. With the statue’s clean expression, the river, and the Basilica on the horizon, I couldn’t resist my instincts to take a photo. I hoped my camera wouldn’t fail me in this moment—the batteries had a tendency to die even when brand new. The shutter opened, and I took aim with my right eye through the lens, squinting my left eye so hard I could feel my face twitch. I pushed the button and with a click the flash blared, illuminating the angel in a mechanical, earthly light.

• • •

I had been in Rome for half a day, and already I knew why the religious devotees, the honeymooning lovers, and history aficionados flocked to the city—the churches with their high vaults and guilt-ridden patrons, hotel rooms with a balcony over-looking Vatican City, and the ancient hills with their crumbling ruins. The city oozed culture and history. There was magic in Rome.

The gentle night breeze blew as I walked down the cobblestone street towards my destination. An old Italian lady was wildly gesturing with her hands, speaking rapidly—angrily—to a man leaning in a doorway. When her arms waved up and down, her light jacket flapped behind her, giving me the illusion that the woman was flying.

Women in sky high heels and tight skirts passed by me without a thought—they were so used to seeing tourists with cameras strapped to their hands, only viewing the world through a tiny lens. The light behind one of the women streamed through her big, curly hair reminding me of a halo. I could only guess at the conversation between the women; by their outfits, I assumed they were going out for the night. The rouge makeup on their lips and olive cheeks certainly was evidence to my theory. They walked perfectly in their heels through the cobblestone streets, not even flinching as their thin stilettos met the cracks in between the stones. These were real Italian women.

The sun had just set, so there was a golden glow at the horizon and the sky was a deep sapphire. The lights on the streets flickered as they turned on for the night, reflecting off the layer of water in the street after a light drizzle early in the evening. As I walked through the puddles, I felt like I was walking on a mirror rather than an uneven passageway.

I glanced down at my map; I took a turn on Lungotevere Castello. I could tell I was getting closer; the tourist to native ratio increased dramatically with each step that I took—rather than the smart Italian style, cameras, sneakers, and t-shirts were prominent. I saw the green, white, and red flag flying high in the distance and knew that the Castel Sant’ Angelo would be resting along the river. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my camera to be prepared for the first time I would see the fortress.

The lights of the Ponte Sant’ Angelo gleamed on the Tiber River, creating multiple images of the magnificent bridge leading to the Castel Sant’ Angelo. The cylindrical design of the castel was an astonishing site. I had only ever seen pictures of the mausoleum turned castle turned museum. The angel on top guarded the museum with an outstretched hand grasping a sword that pointed down towards the roof rather than the typical skyward position. I snapped a few pictures, attempting to find the perfect angle. I kneeled on the rough stone, trying to get a picture from the perspective of a child—large, formidable, intimidating. My knee started to ache from the pressure. I stood and viewed my work on the digital two-inch screen; many of them were blurry from my unsteady hands and the lack of light outside. I walked to the front of the bridge. Positioning my viewfinder to the deepening colored sky behind the castle, I turned my camera at odd angles, hoping I was being artistic. I was never sure what constituted an artistic photo; blurriness, bright colors, weird angles, peculiar subjects, old women in the street, sunsets, angels, towers, basilicas, monuments, cloudy skies, mountains—it was all art caught in a distinct moment.

As I stood closer to the building, I found that the prime shot would be from the end of the bridge with all of the angels proudly standing in intervals along the Ponte Sant’ Angelo. I wandered among the people on the bridge, weaving in and out of groups of drunken adults and tourists setting up tripods to keep their professional cameras steady for the night shots. I took my time, stopping intermittingly to take pictures from various angles of each angel. The Angel with the Cross. The Angel with the Lance. The Angel with the Crown of Thorns. There was something—something—unique about the ten statues. Some were meek and timid, others were defensive and abrasive. I took a few pictures of each, wanting to capture their stories; I yearned to do them justice out of selfish pride. I desperately sought to be the photographer that captured that something that had never been captured.

I paced in half circles around the base of each angel—eager to stake my claim on the angels. The background changed with each predatory step. What did I want behind the angel? Buildings? The sunset? The Tiber? Which would bring out the foreground the most? Questions developed in my mind quickly—I began to think I was concentrating too much on an amateur photograph. I let those feelings go and continued to find the angels’ good sides. The lighting was ideal—the sun dropping, the street lights on, the mist after a light rain. The setting was right out of a movie. It was simple. I didn’t need fancy angles or extra lighting. The shots were pure. I wanted a picture to remind me of this moment, and I tried inadequately to create art. The angels were beautiful and personable in the soft lighting—they gave the rough exterior of the castle a personality.

I paused. She drew my attention immediately. Maybe it was St. Peter’s Basilica in the distance, or the lights reflecting off the river, or my innate need to find something worth a thousand words, or some divine energy drawing me nearer. I didn’t know why I was enraptured—and I still don’t—but she was heavenly. The angel was resting on her pedestal, relaxed and poised. With clouds at her feet and the light draping of her dress flowing gracefully between her legs and behind her, she reminded me of an ancient Greek goddess. The angel stood in direct line of an illusory, perpetual wind that Hollywood actresses dreamed of. Her arms held out towards me were cradling what I thought was a cloth that wove elegantly between her fingers and wrapped around her arms—it was actually a set of whips. Her body was S-shaped; she was stuck in a tranquil, yet defiant state. The curly hair on her head looked soft even though she was made of stone. Her wings gently embraced her body. I sighed in response to the picture I was imagining playing out in my head. The Angel with the Whips.

St. Peter’s Dome lit up the night sky behind her, an eternal reminder of the Church and its power and precedence in Rome. The sky was still a deep indigo as I took out my camera to capture the fading moment. The dark blue weakened as it reached the horizon and a golden blush took over the rest of the frame. A light on the bridge just to the right of the angel cast a heavenly glow upon her body, reinforcing her otherworldly status. The glow dipped in and out of the creases in her gown. It created depth and dimension to her stony character. Written on the base of the statue were the Latin words, In Flagella Paratus Sum—I do not fear the flagellation.

I brought the lens to my face and peered through the small hole, lining up the shot perfectly to capture the martyr, St. Peter’s, and a few surrounding buildings. I clicked the button—letting the flash surround the portrait as my camera memorized the frame. The statue would forever remain frozen in time, on my camera and in life; I wanted to freeze, too—right there, in front of that angel. I stood still with my eyes tightly closed for a moment, hoping by some chance I had happened to stop time for me as well.

I opened my eyes, looking back up at my angel still staring into the distance with blank eyes. I moved my foot, and I backed away from the scene and took in the rest of the pleasant night with a walk back to the metro. As I gazed at my angels once again as I strolled past them towards the castle, I flipped my camera to the picture viewing mode. The first picture popped up on the screen, illuminating my face with the light as I took in my creation. I smiled. Turning off my camera as I looked out over the Tiber River, I rounded the corner onto Lungotevere Castello once again.