Sweet lil Fluff Ball is 4

I can hardly believe it. My little baby, fluffy, adorable, stupid, wonderful, happy little boy is 4 today! Okay, technically he isn't -mine-, he's my brother's dog. But all the same, Winston is still a family dog, and he'll hang out with all of us.
That is, if he's in the mood.
When we first brought him home, he looked like he does in the picture above. That was our first picture of our new dog. It was kind of exciting, and yet kind of stressful. This dog was -weird-. Well bred, supposedly. But beyond the shadow of a doubt, he was a strange dog. Not normal. We brought him into the back yard, at 3 months, and all he did was sit. He didn't want to run around or sniff or anything. He just sat there and panted and sat and panted and sat and panted and sat. That in and of itself freaked us out, because when we got our first dog, all she wanted to do was run around and try to figure things out. But Winston just sat there. Finally we tried to bring him into the house. And he just sat. Then he laid down. But did he move from that one particular tiny place in the whole house? Nope. We were actually quite scared something was wrong with him. Finally, we decided to put him in his crate. And that dog was asleep in two seconds, and he slept hard, let me tell you. I think his crate could have fallen in on top of him and he wouldn't have noticed. When he woke up, he made the first distinct memory in me. My brother was playing guitar, and Winston looked up slowly, and stared at Spencer, and then his head started bobbing. To the beat of the guitar music. And he did it for as long as Spencer was playing. It was absolutely hilarious, and he's never done it again, but that is my first distinct memory of Winston.
But Winston wasn't exactly what we had first expected. At first we expected a very quiet, sweet dog who never did anything wrong.
-snorts back laughter-
Two or three nights later, my whole family was up the whole night, because that dog would not shut up for anything. He was whining and howling literally the whole night.
And we soon found out this dog was the most rambunctious, misbehaving, clever little puppy in the world. For instance, when we were trying to teach Winston how to come...? Eh. That didn't go over so well. Our yard back then was huge. Lots of space to run around in. You'd think, though, when you're chasing this tiny little ball of fluff, you'd be able to catch him pretty easily.
Wrong again. I remember several times chasing Winston around the yard for 10 or 15 minutes before I was able to catch him, or sometimes just gave up. He was a mess. He was annoying. He was so dern cute.
Honestly, I've rarely met a dog as misbehaving as Winston. But all the same, we can't help but love him. He's so cute, and so sweet.
Most of the time. The picture above was from Winston's first Christmas. That dog was absolutely hilarious, and my family was in fits of laughter the whole morning. Winston had an addiction to bows back then, apparently. There was this one bow in particular that he absolutely loved. It was a mini bow, and the whole thing could fit in his mouth. Winston has a reputation for eating inedible things, and so we were trying to figure out what was in his mouth. He finally dropped it. A whole bow. In his mouth. Later on that morning we found another bow back in the hallway shredded to pieces.
I remember another time, Winston found some knitting back in my room. And Winston is like a cat sometimes. For instance, he likes yarn. A lot. He dragged the ball of yarn from my room all the way down the hallway (and it was an extremely long hallway too) to my brother's room.
He has also been known for shredding Spanish moss and toilet paper all the way down that hallway as well.
As I said before, Winston has a reputation for eating. Anything. We've nicknamed him "the goat" because he eats absolutely everything in sight.
In his first year, he ate - a snail, a dead cicada (a wing was hanging out of his mouth when he came in), and a dried up dead frog.
Just yesterday, my dad found him eating a dead black bird in the back yard.
Considering all of this, it's amazing I'll let his face get that close to mine.
Oh, Winston is also a very literate dog. For instance, once he found "A Taste of Chaucer", which is an old, rare version of Chaucer that we got for cheap at a book sale. Well, Winston took the "taste" part of it literally. And. Well. He had a nice taste of the binding.
But for all of his mischief, Winston is extremely sweet. It used to be that he wouldn't get close to anybody for anything. But now, if he's really tired, or "blinky" as we call him, he'll get all cuddly and just sit there with you and let you scratch him. And even though he has spent literally whole days whining (and still does sometimes), he'll eventually be quiet and just sit there and stare at you as you squeal out how adorable he is.
When we got Winston, I thought he was just going to be "the dog." You know. He sits there. He exists. You pet him. You feed him.
But honestly, in September of 2007, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Because now, this little butter ball has absolutely stolen my heart. Which is why I call him "mah boyfraannddd."
I love Winston.
And that is all I have to say.

"We long for an affection altogether ignorant of our faults. Heaven
has accorded this to us
in the uncritical canine attachment."
{george eliot}

Summer Day

Today was a summer day. A typical, wonderful, beautiful summer day. It began this morning when I woke up around 8, really not wanting to get out of bed, thinking of the prospect of having absolutely nothing to do today. But I got up all the same. I'm amazed at how dedicated I've been this summer to getting up at a decent hour to exercise. And that is how I began my day. There is nothing more beautiful than walking down to the lake in my neighborhood and taking in the sun reflecting off the water and shining onto your face. There's nothing like feeling warmth slowly soaking into your skin, or feeling a neighbor's sprinkler hit you in the face. There's nothing like hearing slow laps of water against the soggy, muddy side of the lake. It's so beautiful. And honestly I'm thankful that I can begin the day like that. After getting my morning exercise, I wasted the rest of my morning on Facebook. Ah, such is summer. And the whole boring day stood looming before me. Until one of my best friends, Steven, texted me and my brother and asked us if we wanted to go out to lunch. And so off me and my brother went listening to Simon & Garfunkel, driving straight into a perfect and balmy day. We ate at our favorite pizza place - ricotta stuffed shells and garlic bread for me, thank you.
Then back to the house we went, Spencer still blasting Simon & Garfunkel for some unknown reason. Back at the house, my destiny loomed before me - cleaning baseboards in the hallway and bathroom, and doing geometry. A productive way to spend my afternoon, yes. A fun way, not quite. But I also knew I had a good thing to look forward to at the end of the afternoon. After scrubbing away at doors and baseboards for an hour and a half, I finished, did a lesson of geometry, and then I was off to Starbucks to hang out with Steven and Macy (my cousin). I got there about 15-30 minutes early, so I was delightfully lost in a book until Steven arrived, at which point we both grabbed and drink, and then proceeded to wait for Macy for 30 minutes until she finally got there, at which point we went to Barnes & Noble. Books galore. Banana chocolate smoothie that I can steal from Macy. Steven has to leave. Supper at 6:30. Macy and I hide in a corner and laugh over ridiculous things. Pavement is wet. Sky is gray. Run for the car.... the clouds are about to start crying over nothing. Chick-fil-a. Supper with Steven, Daniel, Drew, and their sissies Caroline and Elizabeth. <3 I love my buddies. They're the best. Chicken soup. Rain outside. Wet wet wet. Time to leave.
Back at home, I enjoyed spending my evening watching charlieissocoollike videos, and sitting out on the back porch with my mom eating an ice cream cone and watching the first fireflies of the year pop out and spark joy in my heart. Heard a train humming a tune a little while ago. A remorseful, nostalgic sort of hum. Now all I hear is the air conditioner quietly droning along with a chorus of crickets. I love crickets. They remind me of summer. Of camping. Of childhood. Of perfection. Of joy. Of an utter peace that I can't begin to express in the words of the English language. I love things that you can't express in words. They've got to be the best things.
Life is joyful.

The Vlog of Accents

So this is my first vlog. The fact that it is a little over 8 minutes long disturbs me... but truly, I do talk this much in real life, as all of my friends will attest to. I just have to -explain- things. Which takes a long time. A very, very long time. So, honestly, I'm not even expecting anyone to watch it. I more made it for my own amusement so I could laugh at the strange faces I make while I talk. But feel free to watch it if you like.



List of words:
Aunt, Route, Wash, Oil, Theater, Iron, Salmon, Caramel, Fire, Water, Sure, Data, Ruin, Crayon, Toilet, New Orleans, Pecan, Both, Again, Probably, Spitting image, Alabama, Lawyer, Coupon, Mayonnaise, Syrup, Pajamas, Caught

And here are the questions:
What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house?
What is the bug that when you touch it, it curls into a ball?
What is the bubbly carbonated drink called?
What do you call gym shoes?
What do you say to address a group of people?
What do you call the kind of spider that has an oval-shaped body and extremely long legs?
What do you call your grandparents?
What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?
What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining?
What is the thing you change the TV channel with?

So feel free to do a vlog. I challenge you to make it longer than mine was.... maybe someone out there is as big of a talker as I am? Please tell me that is the case?

Oh, and feel free to tell me if you think I said anything wrong (which, I didn't, of course ;) and also if you think I have an accent.
Here is Brianne's vlog which is much shorter and much better than mine.

{deeper go the days than ever art can capture}

"I tend to see beauty in things people see as very normal. I see great beauty in Converse. In a laugh. I see beauty in words on a page. I see beauty in a smile from a stranger. I see beauty in a local coffee house. I see beauty in paintings. I see beauty from the wise eyes of an older person. I see beauty in tears needing to be shed. I see beauty in dogs tracking mud in the house. I see beauty in one unexpected snowflake falling. I see beauty in confidence. I see beauty in old hand knit blankets. I see beauty in sun shining on a wood floor. And when people fail to see all that beauty... what's the point in breathing in and out everyday? I hope I never stray too far away from this beauty that is constantly in front of my face. I think my ability to see common things as beautiful is part of what makes me so generally happy. When you skip over a hand made present from God, you skip over a lot of peace. A lot of joy. 'Deeper go the joys we know than words we find to show them. Deeper go the days we know than ever art can capture. The raptures and the reveries no language can contain. Our hearts are moved in simple ways - a sunset or a season; what we feel we can't reveal, no matter how we've tried.' Those are parts of a song I was listening to today that I've heard hundreds of times, and yet never heard. It expresses how I feel about my life. I can't express the beauty - the simple beauty - I see in life. I may not be the most talented person ever. I may not be the most beautiful person ever. I may not be able to sing or act or draw. But something I can do that I don't think many people are gifted with: I can see beauty like few people can. Every person can see beauty. But not many people can see beauty in things that aren't necessarily beautiful. There is beauty in tears and hard times. And through this beauty I find much joy. God has blessed us with this beauty. And I find joy in that. Deeper go the days than ever art can capture. What we feel we can't reveal no matter how we've tried."

~An excerpt from my journal

For the Love of Old Books

Recently I was shopping in a conference for some good finds on books, and in the very back of this conference, there was a little nookish looking booth that sold old books. There was everything from rare, expensive first editions of books to newer books. Mostly there were in between books. But there were some rare finds that I only wished I had the money for. There were some rare old editions of Pride and Prejudice from 1909 for about $45. I only wished I had the money to buy the precious books containing one of the most beloved stories of all time. There was also a first American edition of Til We Have Faces, by Lewis, but if I recall, that one was $60 or so. But even though I didn't have the money to buy the old, rare books, there was something about just holding them. You could hold them, and feel the crackle of the binding and feel the rough old pages rubbing against your fingers. There is something about just feeling a book that seems to bring you back to the first person who once held the book. I love to think of a little Victorian girl primly and properly holding the book sitting up politely in a chair in a sitting room or sitting out on a big lawn drinking in the words of the books. And who knows who have held the books and where the books have been since they were first printed and sold to where they were then: sitting on a shelf just waiting to be taken up by a new owner to be read and loved.
As for myself, I found a few treasures. Not many, but oh the joy of finding even a few to put on your shelf and to pick out and read over and over again. I bought three older books and then one newer book. But the newer book seems just as delightful as the older ones; it's a Robert Frost poetry book, but it's not just any Robert Frost book. Inside it there are the poems along with beautiful black and white photos of landscapes, people, animals... many of the pictures have snow in them, and most of them appear to have been taken in New England. It's a beautiful, beautiful book that I have a feeling will be a favorite of mine. The older books not only have the treasures of the stories in them, but the inscriptions in the front cover are the best. One of the ones that I think will probably be my favorite out of the three is called The Scottish Chiefs. On the inside there is a beautiful, cursive inscription that reads, "Christmas Present From Marl and Minnie to Their Father 1902" Apparently it's a relatively scarce and early edition of the book. It's about William Wallace, and I can say with great certainty that Scotland is my favorite country in the world, so I know I will enjoy the story. There's something almost romantic about the old Scottish people, who were seen as barbaric but were so filled with patriotism. Just looking at the book I can imagine myself getting lost in the words of the story and being transported back to the time of Wallace. Because it's not just a story or any book. It's an old book, which seems to transport me back in time in the first place. Another book I found is entitled Riley Songs of Friendship. It appeared to be a rather random book, but it's really very neat. It's by an Indiana poet, but the pictures and poems inside are beautiful, and I absolutely adored the simple, clean words. The inscription on the front cover of this book says, "To Stuart from Laura Christmas 1916" This book was beautiful, and I couldn't pass it up. The other book I bought was The Screwtape Letters. Okay, yeah, it's a relatively common book, but the inscription and the little treasure that was in it was incredibly delightful and honestly had me nearly giggling I was so excited. Not only is the inscription absolutely the sweetest thing ever.... it's in French. Does it get much better? In the front it says "Madeline [what appears to be] Parlier Hill from [a French name I can't read] avec toute ma tendresse December 28, 1949" And the French inscription means "with all my tenderness." Cute much? Gah. Old books. And then in the middle of the book I found the treasure. This is what I truly loves about old books - you find little things in between the pages you never would have expected. In the middle I found a Beatrix Potter post card from Britain, and then on the back there is a note written in French. It appears that it says something like, "Have a good time in Meadows ---" The last word I can't tell what it says because it's so smudged up. And the book itself just has a nice feel to it. The fact that it's a relatively early edition of a C.S. Lewis book makes me dreadfully delighted, as he is definitely one of my top authors.
What I love about older books is they're all different. When you walk into a Barnes & Noble or Books-A-Million, all the books are the same. They're all new. None of them have had an owner, and they're all brand new and barely touched. But old books - they all carry a different story. They seem to walk a path of life all their own. No, books can't think, feel, or anything of the like. But the book seems to carry two stories - one, which is the obvious - the story it tells. The second, not so obvious, the story it has "lived." Books have been so many different places, been held by so many different people. Some of the books could have lost their owner by being lent out, or by being left in an airport, or some other strange circumstance; and then was picked up by a new owner. They've probably been held by hundreds of people. And then you have to wonder - what made the person, the very first owner, buy the book in the first place? When I start thinking about all these stories, it makes me feel special not only to have these old books, but also to own new books from the bookstore. Because I'm the person starting the story of all of these books, and these books could last for centuries, and one day end up being sold for a hundred dollars because they're rare. And that thought is indeed an intriguing one.
And after typing this all out, I feel like going down to the coffee shop and sitting down on one of the couches in a little cranny and reading one of these books from cover to cover. The things that books will do to you....

"Find a girl who reads. You'll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She's the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop?
That's the reader.
They can never resist smelling the pages,
especially when they are yellow."
{excerpt from The Monica Bird}

{music is the poetry of the air}

Okay, honestly, I promise this is the last post on piano that I'll do for a while. But today was my final piano performance for my sophomore year... and it was intense. It was my recital. And although it seems as if recitals would be a little more relaxed than competitions... eh, not really. Everyone is terrified. Shaking. Shifting from side to side wishing it was all over. Recitals tend to be that way. And then once it's all over you're overjoyed and birds are singing and the world is rejoicing and singing the Hallelujah Chorus. No joke.
It all began this morning. I woke up at seven feeling awful and nervous and was nearly shaking I was so nervous. Yes.... I get nervous and shaky up to 12 hours before I supposed to play. Pitiful, I know, but that's just me. I got up a little bit later, but didn't start practicing until about 12. After that it was on and off playing until it was time to leave. There I was, all fancied up for the recital (prom dress and all. My recitals are pretty legit), and trying to choke down a chicken salad. You see, I can barely ever eat when I'm nervous. It makes me feel even more nervous, and then it makes me feel sick. But I managed to actually eat, and then I went and played a little bit before we left. I was sounding great. That is, until the last two times I ran through my Moszkowski etude. It was pretty bad. In fact, it nearly sounded awful. So I was awfully nervous and all sorts of horrible things that could happen were running through my head. But off to the music hall at the local college we went. Once we got there, I got to sit with my buddies Nick and Barret (best pianists evverrr). Barret and I mused over how we hated being so late in the recital. I was 12th out of 16, and Barret was right after me. Nick picked on me horribly. Apparently he likes making people feel ten times more nervous than they already are. But all the same, he made me laugh in the process so maybe it balanced out...? Anyway, soon enough the recital was under way, and hearts started racing. My teacher had some of the most talented students play a Beethoven sonata, each student playing a different movement. After that there were all the adorable kids who show off and are so proud of themselves. And -then- it happens. People start playing your level music. And they're all playing it perfectly. Which puts you under even more pressure because then you feel like you have to do at least as well, preferably better.
About half way through, Nick played. The way he plays music is basically out of this world. The last piece he played was so good it had me nearly in fits of joyful giggles 'cause it was such a frolicsome piece. But as he stepped down, it hit me like a baseball in the head (which trust me is not loads of fun.... it's happened to me before). I realized only three more girls were going to go, and then it would be my turn. Oh joy. Suddenly it occurred to me that getting a fever and throwing up or having a seizure would be incredibly convenient. But, as always, those kinds of things don't happen when they're terribly convenient. The three girls went. The last girl was quite good, but me? I could barely pay attention. Nerves. Shaky hands. Feeling like I might even possibly DIE because of the stress. Okay. It wasn't that bad. But nonetheless, I was nervous. I was praying really hard. And I told myself as she was stepping down that it was my turn to show everyone what kind of talent I got. Whooo. Go me. Feel the excitement. Can I die now? Yeah. I really hate playing for people if you didn't catch my drift.
I got up there. I sat down. I adjusted my dress, my bench... and then it was time to play. I played Soft Lights first (yeah, the piece that I played for Festival and those two other competitions). Of course that one doesn't really scare me, but all the same, I was shaking. Legs, arms, hands, -everything- was shaking. Thankfully it wasn't visible but trust me, it was occurring. That piece went fine. I don't remember any particular slip ups, so it was fine. But then came my nemesis. I had mostly got it down, but if you recall from about ten paragraphs up (yeah, I talk a lot. Blogger is handy in that respect), I had played it pretty badly before I left for the recital. But I began playing. And I was playing. And not messing up. And there were people out there watching me not mess up. Yeessss. Success much! I kept playing and playing. Only on the third page did I make my first very minor mistake. And then on the last page I made a very weird mistake that I don't ever recall having made. I forgot the notes. I made something up. It sounded bad but hopefully not too noticeable. And then continued. And from there it went perfectly. I played it nearly perfectly! If you've been around me at all, you have probably heard me say that while I was walking down I was seriously restraining myself from bursting into a random Irish jig. I was so delighted that it was over and I no longer had to worry about it or think about it or be nervous about it or practice for hours on end to get ready for it.
In fact, I was so joyful I was like a little kid the rest of the recital. I could barely pay attention to anything. Sure, I listened to the music and enjoyed it immensely, but there's nothing like the feeling of finishing something that you've been dreading for weeks. After I went, Barret went... and he blew me away. It is very, very, very rare that someone will make me smile nearly the whole time they're playing. Barret has that unusual talent of making me do that. I'm completely serious when I say at one point I honestly could not see his hands. They were moving so fast that I couldn't tell which was which or what they were doing. All I knew is this incredible sound was coming from the notes he was playing. When he began I was already delighted enough that I was done. But by the time he was done I was completely ready to squeal and giggle and laugh. Have you picked up on the fact I was (and still am) completely hyper and giggly and gleeful? Of course you haven't. Hah.
Anyway, the rest of the students who played were knock-out good. It's rare that you go to a recital and you feel like you're in a world-class concert.
After the recital was cake and punch and happiness all around. Good stuff. Also, I was terribly excited because I think I had at least 4 or 5 people compliment me on my expression in the way I play. Which made me oh-so-delighted because one of my former teachers used to tell me over and over that I needed to add more expression to the way I play. And voila! After much practice, I can finally do it.
And below, you may view my performance, if you'd like.



P.S. Congratulations if you actually read this whole post that was posted completely out of the remaining hyperness that was left in me after finishing my recital. I respect you for having such endurance.