Meandering Rib Scarf

I finished my knitting! Huzzah! Here's the finished product:

This was my first knitting project, and my attempt at Lion Brand's Meandering Rib Scarf. I used one skein (I would have liked to have used both skeins I bought, but I had Christmas time constraints) of Caron's Simply Soft Eco acrylic yarn, Ocean color (cheap soft yarn from Wal-Mart! Yay!). I repeated the pattern 13 times, I believe.

The reason it's flared out is two-fold ... on the left side of the picture, it's flared out because I had just started to knit and didn't quite know what I was doing. I wanted the other side to match, so I just knit looser. In retrospect, I could have just added stitches. Ah well. It was late at night.

Close up on the texture:

Mom and Peter seemed to both like the scarf!

Flying

As many of you know ... my imagination is too vivid for its own good.

So on the plane from Memphis to Dallas Fort Worth last night, when the engines sounded like a train bellowing right next to my ear, I knew the plane was going to blow up. It didn't matter that I was sitting in the back of the plane, next to the engines. The woman behind me who shielded her eyes and clutched her husband's hand told me everything.

I formulated my plan of self sacrifice. As soon as flames began to shoot from the left engine, I knew I would throw myself over the baby who was sleeping in his great-grandmother's arms next to me.

And then we landed safely and all this went to rot.

Fear.

My Psych final was today. We didn't have an exam, just a final paper dealing with a psychological model explaining the Self in light of the fall. One of the main conclusions in this model was the fact that the False Self (fallen away from what God created) lives in fear.

Part of the paper was to integrate ourselves into the model, to show how the model works by giving examples of our own lives. That was hard. To write an academic paper about true fears you are struggling with, things you hardly tell anyone.

The root problems are fear of rejection, fear of abandonment, and fear of humiliation. But out of this, I've found

I'm afraid of friendship

I'm afraid of leading worship

I'm afraid of speaking up in class

I'm afraid of conversation

I'm afraid of acceptance

I'm afraid of arguments with my boyfriend

I'm afraid to start or continue music lessons

I'm afraid to audition for anything

And as I remembered today, I'm afraid to confront someone who I know has deeply hurt someone else in my life, so I just content myself with glaring at the back of their heads.

Connoisseur,

as defined by the Oxford American Dictionary, refers to "an expert judge in matters of taste."

Lately, I've been realizing that too often, I, and others around me, have become spiritual connoisseurs. We judge church services based on whether or not the worship style is to our liking, whether the worship pastor is hip enough, never minding the hearts of those leading. We zone out on speakers who aren't vivacious, who don't entertain us, not stopping to think about the prayer and effort put into the sermon.

"Man looks on the outward appearance, but Yahweh looks on the heart," says 1 Samuel 16:7.  What are we concerned with? How flashy and cool our love for God can be? Or whether our hearts are right with him?

Stop being a taste-tester of doctrines, of denominations, of convictions. Find God's heart, and he will lead you to the true Living Water.

Yesterday, the day of craziness

I feel like I'm always sharing dreams with you. Oh well. This one is great. It began early in the wee morning hours of Wednesday.

I was in the Taylor chorale, and we were on an underground train, going past the Indianapolis airport. Then we all got off, and we were at Amber's house. I was hanging out with Laura and Alyssa in Amber's room, and then Tracy Manning (who is really the theatre director, but who in my dream directed chorale) burst into the room.

"We are singing in 5 minutes! Get dressed!"

We were supposed to bring all black to wear to our concert - a combination of shirt/pants/skirt, whatever. However, I looked in my suitcase and all I had brought was a bright blue dress I had worn in the 90s. I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror. Even though it fit, I said to myself, "This is definitely not black."

Then I realized that we were supposed to sing in 2 minutes, and began running around looking for black clothes. Even though Amber had a ton in her closet, they wouldn't fit me. Alyssa and Laura didn't have any extras, and even though Valerie did, she shut the door and frowned at me.

In all of this stress and mayhem, my alarm went off and I woke up with a headache.

I then got up, took a shower, got ready, and went to my advisor's office for a meeting and my RAC sheet. (This is no longer the dream, by the way, this is reality.) She said my schedule looked good, we talked about Ireland and Astronomy, and she said I should take Life Span next semester.

I went to my next class, where we were watching a PBS special on an American lady who had moved to Afghanistan. Rather interesting. Then someone's cell phone started going off. Except it didn't stop making that loud buzzing. And then lights started flashing. What? We all kind of looked at each other, confused, saw people rushing by in the hall outside the door, and stood up and slowly began to gather our stuff.

After standing up and slowly filing out, we realized that the supposed cell phone was actually the fire alarm, and were quite confused. We made it out of Rupp, were told to go to the Chapel, and then to the Student Union. We then found out that there had been a gas leak outside Smith-Hermanson, and so we had chapel in the Union. Quite awesome actually.

They then said that classes were cancelled until further notice, but then until about 12:30 kept un-cancelling and re-cancelling classes and opening and closing buildings on a whim. We were all frustrated and confused.

Then I gave a horrible speech, enjoyed Hebrew, and endured Astronomy, ending the day on a pleasant note by creating a scary schedule for next semester, 17 credits, 4 of which are Life Span.

'Twas an interesting day.

not my favorite Wednesday.

That was yesterday - staying up until 3:20, potentially getting up only 4 hours later, a huge project, homework due, 2 tests and a quiz. Looking toward the Wednesday, I was not pleased and rather stressed.

But then, writing a letter to my mom in Astronomy class last night, I realized that I had made it through the day unscathed. All of the things I thought were going to squash me actually turned out to be all right.

Interesting how my perspective on this changed how I felt about it entirely. In the span of 24 hours, I was feeling completely different about this Wednesday.

Hm. Just for thinking.

and I'm back from the dead

... hopefully.

I keep coming to my blog, hoping to think of some ingenious remarks to share with the general public, but then I read everyone else's blogs and am saddened that I really don't have much to say.

Those who read my blog are quite few, and don't really need my blog to keep up with me. So I figure, why write? Oh well. I'll come up with something. For example, this hilarious dream I had Thursday night.

---

A big movie producer honcho man, who was apparently quite unpopular, was currently living in a hotel. One movie star he had rejected was now bent on assassinating him. This person (who was first a girl in my dream, and then a guy) was hanging out with me and telling me of her woes. She had tried to assassinate him many times by impersonating room service and bringing up poisoned food. But he hadn't died yet.

So then I got in on it. S/he and I and several other people were hanging out in the movie honcho's hotel room, and he and his wife were sitting in bed, chatting it up with us. Our first move was to saw off a part of the bedpost and replace it with a poisoned peanut. But that didn't work.

So then we wrote up about ten letters, giving him directions to places that were going to be blown up. We must have thought this guy was really stupid.

But he wasn't stupid. He caught our drift, and started blowing things up! Oh, and we were in the woods now. And it was a battle. So, the leader of our forces said that if we had burning books it would ward off the evil forces.

So we dipped the books into oil and they burst into flame and we waited for the enemy to spring out of the forest. When they did, we waved our flaming books at them. Except I almost killed Jessica Heil with mine.

"Sorry!" I said.

"What are you trying to do??" asked Jessica.

"Well, it's your fault anyway."

"Whatever. No it's not." This statement was really quite thought-provoking in my dream.

Then the flames off of our books turned into melted cheese and everyone's legs and arms were covered in oil. So we got in the car and drove into a valley, surrounded on all sides by mountains. And in the middle was LeTourneau University.

It was snowing and it was either prospectives weekend or homecoming, so the admissions/alumni department had given everyone brightly colored winter jackets. I found James and said, "LeTourneau, is this ... I mean, James, is this LeTourneau?" Because all the signs were really small and just said, "The School in Fort Wayne."

And he said it was, and then I said, "Oh, YES! That means I can find James and Josh! I haven't seen them in forever." Then I realized I was talking to James, so I said, "Oh wow, so this means you're back from Korea?" And he said yes, and I woke up.

I Am From

For my Interpersonal Communication class, I was assigned to write a 10-12 line poem describing where I Am From. Not particularly the city or state, but what has formed who I am today.

This assignment minded me of the epic poem I wrote in 8th grade. Not at all because of the length, but because it's one of those assignments I actually enjoyed doing, would do for fun, and completed early - in the case of the epic poem, 3 weeks early. What a cute little nerd.

I Am From Narnia

I Am From a missionary family

I Am From the open skies and barefoot fields

I Am From a deep desire for justice and peace

I Am From recycling and dark chocolate and Crayola crayons

I Am From finding motivation for loving, for living, for learning

I Am From a love of organized chaos, especially Frederic Chopin

I Am From loving a group of friends both recent and from the ancient past

I Am From a struggle of finding God and this world and myself and fitting them all together

I Am From a love of the green mountains, fascinating people, and intricate culture of Ireland

this is NOT smart of me

It's been a while since I've posted, but this is not a good time to catch up. I have three classes tomorrow, two of which I have homework yet to do, and I still have yet to pack for our floor retreat tomorrow.

But I can't concentrate. It's 71 Fahrenheit outside, it has just rained, the fan is blowing, and I'm listening to George Winston and Chopin. I don't even have anything in particular to write about. Besides the fact that I am not a fan of homework at the moment. Anything, I suppose, to keep me from reading sentences such as, "If your intentions are positive, accurate, and reciprocated by the people with whom you are interacting, your intercultural competence will likely be enhanced."

Aha! This is what prompted the post. I just returned (well, around 11) from my small group meeting. I'm so glad I got to be in the same small group as last semester. I love it. I am reminded once again why I love being here. We spent 2 1/2 hours just ... talking. Talking about our summers, the not so fun spots, the frustrating times, but also the laughs and the joy.

This is what I love about Taylor. Just being. And knowing that there are people I can tell about Me, the real, nasty, gritty, failing, human Me. I can't think of a way to continue here without sounding cliche. I don't want to be. It's not. Or, on the other hand, maybe phrases like "loving me for who I really am" are cliche for a reason. Because they're used so much. And they're true.

Anyway, this random babbling and rambling signifies that I must leave you and return to the depth which is homework. I leave you with another inspiring line from my Intercultural Competence book: "By appropriate we mean those behaviors that are regarded as proper and suitable given the expectations generated by a given culture, the constraints of the specific situation, and the nature of the relationship between the interactants."

Goodnight.

i laughed today,

and thought you should too. Here are the sources of my laughter.

One: Thanks to the sarcasm of Charles Dickens in Bleak House, Chapter 14 - "Deportment". It's especially wonderful if you read it out loud.

Just then, there appeared from a side door, old Mr. Turveydrop, in the full lustre of his Deportment. He was a fat old gentleman with a false complexion, false teeth, false whiskers, and a wig. He had a fur collar, and he had a padded breast to his coat, which only wanted a star or a broad blue ribbon to be complete. He was pinched in, and swelled out, and got up, and stepped down, as much as he could possibly bear. He had such a neckcloth on (puffing his very eyes out of their natural shape), and his chin and even his ears so sunk into it, that it seemed as though he must inevitably double up, if it were cast loose. He had, under his arm, a hat of great size and weight, shelving downward from the crown to the brim; and in his hand a pair of white gloves, with which he flapped it, as he stood poised on one leg in a high-shouldered, round-elbowed state of elegance not to be surpassed. He had a cane, he had an eye-glass, he had a snuff-box, he had wristbands, he had everything but any touch of nature; he was not like youth, he was not like age, he was not like anything in the world but a model of Deportment.

Two: I had heard about this sketch pretty much all my life, but finally saw it just today. And was glad of it.

Three: I was cleaning my room (finally) and found another cunningly penned passage from a book, this time Every Day Deserves a Chance by Max Lucado (quite a good book, actually).

The book you are reading came back from my editors with a hemorrhage of red ink. A tattoo parlor gives fewer mark-ups than they did.

Four: Still cleaning my room, I found a page of limericks I had written. Yes, I am quite the nerd. This one is the best.

A man was known for his daring
And yet to his wife seemed uncaring
His real true identity
Was concealed in dementity
And for the worse the guillotine's been faring

Anyone know the literary/movie reference made there? It's a classic.

Orange Chicken

Melissa and I continued our tradition of making Orange Chicken today, and we so perfected the recipe that we thought we would share it with you. So, tada!

Orange Chicken (from recipezaar.com, but pretty much our own take on it)

Ingredients:
8 chicken breasts (~4 oz. each)
2 eggs
3 teaspoons salt
pepper (as desired)
4 tablespoons oil
1/4 cup corn starch
1 cup flour
2 tablespoons ginger, grated
2 teaspoons garlic, minced
1 teaspoon crushed hot red chili peppers
1/2 cup green onions, chopped
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
1/2 cup water
3 tablespoons corn starch
1 teaspoon sesame oil

Ingredients for Orange Sauce:
3 tablespoons soy sauce
3 tablespoons water
1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons sugar
1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons vinegar
zest of 2 oranges
juice of 1 orange

Directions:
1. Cut chicken into bite-size pieces and place in a large bowl.
2. Stir in eggs, salt, pepper, and 2 tablespoons oil, and mix well.
3. In a larger bowl, stir cornstarch and flour together.
4. Add chicken pieces, stirring to coat.
5. Place chicken pieces on greased cookie sheets, so that pieces are not touching.
6. Bake at 400° for 25 minutes (until blonde).
(mix together Orange Sauce while the chicken is baking)
7. Set chicken aside and let cool (separating chicken pieces if necessary).
8. Heat 2 tablespoons of oil in a wok (or large saucepan).
9. Add ginger and garlic and stir-fry until fragrant.
10. Add and stir-fry crushed chiles and green onions.
11. Add rice vinegar and stir.
12. Add orange sauce and bring to a boil.
13. Add cooked chicken, stirring until well mixed.
14. Stir water into 3 tablespoons cornstarch until smooth and and to chicken.
15. Heat until sauce is thickened.
16. Stir in sesame oil.
17. Serve over rice.

Enjoy!

"No More Poo Poo Anywhere" and Other Tales of Motherhood

My aunt has three kids, Benjamin, Grace, and Micah. Currently they are 5 1/2, 4 1/2, and 3 1/2. So when my aunt and uncle went to Austin for a couple days last week, I was called upon to stay overnight with the kids. I was excited, and rightly so - it was a lot of fun. But also a lot of work. (I think I'm still tired.)

My greatest fear going into it was related to Micah's allergies and the possibility of having to use an EpiPen (click and go to page 2 to see why I was so scared). The biggest thing I did have to deal with was about Micah, but not to that extreme.

(Let those plagued with ladylike sensibilities cease reading here)

I had been there for about an hour when Grace comes running to me. "Micah's got poo poo in his pants!" Micah's working on the whole potty-training thing, but isn't quite there yet. As I found out.

So I found Micah, and indeed, there was poo poo in his pants. So I went and sat him on the toilet and started peeling off his shorts and underwear. Bad idea. Poo poo all over the toilet seat, Micah's legs, and then propelled by the underwear onto the bathroom rug. Micah's going, "Eww ... yucky."

To make the whole smelly experience a little bit better, while getting Micah clean I unfortunately introduced a new song into the Smith family (seriously, the kids were singing it the next day). "No more poo poo anywhere..." This is repeated as many times as necessary, and when that is exhausted, new verses are added, like Benjamin's contribution - "No more poo poo on the ceiling fan!" (We all agreed that would be quite gross.)

Once Micah was clean and re-clothed, I proceeded to clean off his clothes and the bathroom rug. Hmm. I was at a loss for what to do. So, I did what any sensible person should do - I called my mom. "Um ... I have a question. How would you go about getting a large amount of poo poo off an article of clothing?" Thank God for moms. They are the best. (She told me to rinse the offending articles in the toilet. It worked. I would have never thought of that. Like I said, moms are awesome.)

This incident didn't put a stain (ha. ha. ha. great pun, eh?) on the rest of my time there. It was great. Really. I did learn a couple of things though (it's always good to do that though, right?)

• It's easier to enforce your own rules than other people's. Random rules, especially. Like, I can guess brushing teeth before bed, no hitting your sister, stuff like that. But dessert after specific meals? How much TV? "Mom doesn't make us do that!" Or, "Oh sure, Mom lets us do that." Mmmhmm ... sure.
• Also, I have an ever increasing respect for moms. It's a lot of work. Not sure I want to have those five kids, after all ... haha.

I love my cousins.

yet another post about books and coffee

I like books.

I like coffee.

In weird ways.

Tonight, I found myself staring longingly at a cup of Cinnamon Dolce - flavored coffee.

In bookstores, I often realize that I have been lovingly stroking a book.

Weird.

the Dark Knight (or, Why I Want to Marry a Superhero But Not Take Our Children To Their Dad's Movies)

I watched the Dark Knight this afternoon. Happy! Whenever I see an action movie, the inevitable result is that I want to break down the door of the theatre and start spraying the lobby with machine gun fire. When I see a superhero movie, the inevitable result is that I want the superhero for my birthday. (Except I don't think I'd want the Incredible Hulk. But I haven't seen that, so it doesn't count.)

I bet you were expecting a movie review. HA! You're in for a surprise, suckers.

Wouldn't it be amazing to marry, or at least date, a superhero? (Sorry to all the guys reading this ... this is quite a girly post. Oh well - I'm prone to it sooner or later.) Think about it. How awesome would it be to be swooping through the sky with your favorite superhero (Batman, Spiderman, and Superman are all equal to the task)? Or speeding in and out of traffic on Batman on his Bat-bike? And who can resist how super-sexy Batman's deep voice is? Or how cute and nerdy Spiderman is? Or how all-around amazing Superman is? Don't you want them to be your man? I want 'em for my birfday.

But this lovely train of thought was somewhat (albeit, only briefly) spoiled during this afternoon's viewing. Alternately, I spent my time mad at an incompetent mother. While this is pretty harsh wording, you'll see why. A woman in our row had brought her three young boys. While yes, they're boys, and therefore apt to like action movies, the youngest couldn't have been older than six.

And yet, there he sat, and watched the Joker elaborately describe his brutal scars, watched mucho vehicles blow up, watched people fight with weapons and in hand to hand combat and face moral dilemmas. Not to mention someone's nasty face [I give out no spoilers]. I will admit, his mom did take him out after one especially gruesome scene (for a six-year-old), but then she brought him back! And he sat huddled there on her lap, whimpering. We could hear him whimpering! It's a PG-13 movie for crying out loud! Did you really think your little boy could handle it??


I liked it.
Although, according to the previews, the end is near.

dreams

PREPARE TO BE MYSTICIZED AS HANNAH THE FANTASTIC HEARS YOUR DREAMS AND READS YOUR FUTURE!

(Just kidding. While that may have been your first thought upon reading this post's title (it sure was my first thought), that's not the kind of dream I'm talking about.)


I hate these dreams that take over my world.

And, like I said, I'm not talking about the at-night dream. I'm talking about the thought-hope-plan-wish type of dream. In my case, the all-consuming kind. This one's been raging around in my head since Friday, and it won't stop.

You see, after visiting the most amazing bookstore ever (Well, most amazing used bookstore. Most amazing bookstore overall goes to Hodges Figgis - 4 storeys of ultimate bliss in Dublin.) and --according to Rachael Cox-- an "ambience-laden" coffee shop, I was inspired to open my own coffee/smoothie and used book shop. With local music and art. In a college town.

But then this stupid idea wouldn't leave my head. I even told this stupid idea how stupid it was. How I knew nothing about business, or coffee for that matter, how it would be quite fiscally irresponsible (etc., etc., ad nauseam). But still it lingered.

Yesterday mom and I went to The Colony Resale, where a good portion of my time was spent looking at furniture. I dragged mom away from her bargain-finding and exclaimed to her, "For my coffee shop, I mean, that is, if that ever were to happen, I would get this wooden & forest green table and chairs set. 4 chairs and a table for $59.99, and they look so cool! Oh and then these bar stools are only $2.49, and look at this ridiculous table ... er ... desk thing! That would have to be in my coffee shop, just because it's so eclectic." (that table really was ridiculous. It was painted ........ like some of these kind of colors (see ridiculous color inset) and ... it was just quite unusual.)

And then on the way home I kept talking about this stupid coffee shop, and how I would need a business partner who actually knew something about coffee and money ... and I would take care of the smoothies and books. It didn't help that when I got home and was talking to Sarah on IM and (half-jokingly, half in serious) asked her if she wanted to open up a coffee/used book shop, she said sure, and that her roommate was a business major and loved coffee. GRR!

Last night I had finally gotten in bed, put my computer to bed, and then promptly could not fall asleep. So I started thinking of names for my non-existent coffee shop. I then had the brilliant idea of looking up coffee shop names on the internet. I sat up, put on my glasses, and then stared at my compy. He was sitting there on my nightstand. Turned off. I seriously stared at my computer in the dark for a full minute or so.

I decided not to turn on the poor compy, so I tried to fall asleep again. It was really late, so I don't know why I was having problems. I ended up in the living room leafing through our huge dictionary, brainstorming by myself at 2:30 in the morning.

I came up with a few interesting names, by the way. Or at least, interesting trains of thought. For some reason, they were all on a musical kind of theme. Sonata (imagine "Books and Coffee" or "Coffee and Books" appended to each of these) and Sonatina both sounded too frilly. Mazurka sounds cool, but the dictionary told me it was a Polish dance. MezzoForte was a nice thought, but it doesn't have the best initials. The best was Fermata, the musical element that causes a note to be sustained longer than usual, with the idea of lingering at a coffee shop involved. [Looking through the dictionary also caused me to think of several other cool names, but they sounded like nightclubs or raves or something. Oh well. Let me know if you're opening one of those and you need name ideas.]

But ... why is this currently on my mind? All the time? I really don't know what to do with it. Dismiss it completely? Jump in headfirst? Or just think about it and how amazing it would be, which is what I am currently doing.

of coffee shops and used books and air-headed teenagers

Well, today was lovely. Mom and I were planning on taking public transportation to the Kimbell Art Museum in Fort Worth, but we realized that north Texas is not Europe, and public transport has a ways to go. A long ways, in fact, for us - 3 hours one way, to be precise. Time for Plan B. We figured out expenses, gave ourselves a budget, and drove out to Denton.

We first hit up Recycled Books, Records, and CD's on the square in Denton. Wow. I hadn't been there before, and now I'm wondering why not. Three storeys of used books, and lots of them smell good. How did I stay away?

I went there with a bit of an idea in my head. I had just remembered a book from my childhood and wondered if I could find it. (Let's see if it rings a bell with any of you...) This is how my vague memory recalls snatches of it: A princess in disguise gets a job as a cook in a castle, puts random gold trinkets in the prince's soup, she wears a cloak of many different furs, and has silvery dresses in walnut shells, and eventually marries the prince. Yeah, not much to go on. Well, it turns out that I read the children-ized version of what is an incestuous Grimm's fairy tale. The prince was actually the princess's father, a king whose wife had died and needed to marry someone as beautiful as she, and the only one is their daughter ...... Yeah. It's known by various names - "The Princess in Disguise", "All-Kinds-of-Fur", "Allerleirauh", and "Many Furs". I'd like to find that childrenized storybook version; it was one of my favourite books as a kid. (not to mention, not as creepy)

While perusing the fiction section, I couldn't help overhearing and partially recording this quite amusing conversation. (Yes, I actually got out my notebook and jotted some notes down. While laughing at these people. Don't worry, they were a completely different row so they didn't even see me or acknowledge my existence.)

A trendy, cuter than me, and unfortunately airheaded high schooler walked past me with her boyfriend/brother/cousin/I don't know. Man friend. His name was Brad.
Airhead Girl: You know, I'm one of those people who actually reads books, and gets A's in school, not like some of my other friends.
Brad: (mumbling)
Airhead (looking for a particular book): You know, I keep taking these pregnancy tests, even though they always come back negative, because I'm so scared that I'm actually pregnant!
Brad: How long have you been taking the tests?
Airhead: I don't know, I've taken like, three, in, like, the past couple months or something?
Brad: You would know by now.
Airhead: Whatever! I'm just scared.
Brad: No, seriously, you would know by now.
Airhead (giggling emptily): Oh my gosh that totally reminds me of my friend So and So and me! We were both scared we were pregnant, so we went and got pregnancy tests from CVS, and then went to Taco Bell and took the tests in the bathroom!
Brad: Do you realize how ghetto that is?
Airhead: Shut up!! That's not ghetto!
Brad: Yes it is! Taking pregnancy tests in the bathroom of Taco Bell?! That's ghetto.
Airhead: Okay, whatever ... well, maybe it is, but we're not ghetto! See, we couldn't take it at home 'cause then our parents would find out and get mad at us! (starts looking for the book again) Oh ... wait ... S comes before T, right? (sigh) Oh, forget it Brad, I'm never gonna find this book. I'll just get it at the library.

As they walked away, I laughed, or in honor of Airhead Girl, giggled.

I then went and found mom, which was surprisingly easy to do so, considering the size of the place. After browsing some more, we checked out, mom with some Brennan Manning and Bach, I with the following:

• Four Great Plays by Chekhov (including The Cherry Orchard and Uncle Vanya!), 1958 edition
• When We Were Very Young by A.A. Milne, 1951 edition
• C.S. Lewis' Silver Chair, my all-time favourite edition (on the right), 1970 edition
• bookmarks
• bumper sticker for my guitar case
• entering into a drawing for a $75 gift certificate (oh man...the damage I could do...)

After this, we moved the car (rot about 2 hour parking and all that) and then dropped in a lovely coffee shop. Jupiter House = Awesomeness. I got an Electric Orange Cranberry smoothie, mom a Mango Green Tea, and we split a scrumptiously fantastic cinnamon roll.

Then I got to thinking ... how awesome would it be to own a coffee/smoothie shop, coupled with a used book store? Mom and I started dreaming ... that would be amazing. Then, as I sipped my amazing smoothie, and as mom got a brain freeze from hers, I (as I am wont to do) thought of all the pesky details that would be involved - capital, how I don't know anything about coffee, how I would never make any money ... so then I thought to myself ... Oh Nevermind. (I'm great at shooting down my own dreams.)

But I mean ... wouldn't that be so much fun? And then doing more like displaying local artists' work, having live music ... a community hub. I think it would thrive in a college town. Probably not Upland, though. (and why would I want to compete with Payne's??)

Anyway ... it was a lovely day.


Also, on a completely different note, all women everywhere should always be required to wear a bra at all times. The end.

stream of consciousness

In 11th grade, my English teacher assigned a stream of consciousness essay. Basically, she told us all to sit down for a half hour or so and just write down what we were thinking, hearing, feeling, smelling, and so on. I just happened to find mine, and it amused me quite a bit. Most of it was questions I had, and some parts were actually intriguing and thought provoking. Instead of keeping this tidbit to myself, I have decided that here, for your reading (and thinking / hearing / feeling / smelling) pleasure, is a snippet of Hannah Chupp, 2 1/2 years ago. [and yes, I wrote it during another class. ha.]

Stream of Consciousness: Chemistry Class, April 12, 2006, 2:00-2:25 p.m.

There will be a paper coming out of my head, says Sarah. This room is so hot! Why won't the air turn on? I had no idea he took chemistry yesterday. Never mind. The table is messed up. Sarah sounds like a squirrel and Jessica says she's hyperventilating. What would be the eventual result of continual hyperventilation? I wonder if the rate of hyperventilation would change with change in temperature. Or atmospheric pressure. Or if there would be any kind of equilibrium between the air in our body and the air outside.

Can there ever be complete trust? Even if we have no logical reason not to trust someone, will we develop trust issues for no reasons? Praise the Lord for lack of essay. A chem essay on the final would be disgusting. Who decides the meanings of words? And how do they change through the years? Who decides? How did we delegate that authority and why? We talk about lost freedoms to the government, but what about lost freedoms to the general public? Every decision someone makes is a freedom lost to someone else.

What is sound? Seriously. And why did God create things we'll never see or hear? For his own pleasure? Anything he created on a worldly scale will never compare to what Heaven is like, so it's obviously not for his benefit. But then comes the question, are other galaxies fallen? When sin came into the world, did it also go to, say, the moon, or Jupiter? They're obviously not perfect, not what is the best possible result, but how did sin get there?

How do people get popular? What is the definition of popular, meaning, is popular inclusive of everything (all people like you), or can you be "popular" and still a geek? Am I a geek? Do people hate me? I wonder. They haven't told me yet, at least. What if everyone I thought was a close friend was really plotting to kill me when I turned 45? Don't worry, I'm not that paranoid. It's just an odd thought. But what if, in my doubt of paranoia, I was really paranoid? Of being paranoid? What if what I thought was not really thought, meaning that my brain was tricking me into thinking what weren't really my thoughts.

Wow, this is a lot deeper than I thought it was going to be. If I go into anymore, I will probably get you and myself depressed, and scare us both. Therefore, I have ended. No I haven't, this assignment has. No it hasn't, it's still continuing. So it will end. But then it's always in the future, so will it really ever end?

to all those who (don't) read this - A Question.

Any inventive uses for a single earring?

As far as post earrings go, I don't mind wearing just one (pretending I only have one second piercing), but what about the dangly type?

Google has proved sadly unresourceful in this area.

I wouldst appreciate thine help.

I am tired ...

I am tired of strife, of dissension,of disagreement and argument.

I am tired of hypocrisy, of double-meanings, of the two faces you rotate between.

I want reality.

I want you to strive for harmony.

I want to always think the best.

I am tired ...

... I long for peace.

sympathies and prayers

Today at work a kid (okay, he was about my age, a bit younger perhaps, maybe 17?) asked to use the phone. I forget his name, but he said, "My phone just died, and I need to call my friend to pick me up." So then I went about my business, helping other customers and pretending not to listen.

"Hey Emily? It's [Kid's Name Here]. Yeah, my phone died, and I need to call Lance. He was supposed to pick me up, like, an hour ago. ... I'm at a Christian bookstore. .... He's getting math tutoring right now. ... Yeah, that's what I was wondering. ... Don't worry, I'm gonna be at youth tonight. Yeah. ... Could you give me his number? ... Mmk... Thanks."

[Call to Lance] "Hey Lance, man, I'm still at ... ... Dude, are you serious? ... Where are you? ... I mean, what happened? ... Is everyone okay? ... Alright then, I guess I'll see you. ... Bye."

As I overheard this one-sided conversation (am I less suspicious if I say I'm an undercover reporter?) I immediately knew what was happened. Then this poor kid who was stranded at Mardel and whose name I have completely forgotten confirmed my suspicions - Lance had been in a wreck.

So Lance, if you ever by some odd chance read this, know that on the afternoon of July 9, 2008, I was praying for you. I was in a crash last December. It was my fault, and it was horrifying. I honestly thought I was going to die (then I started thinking about how this would screw up my parents' auto insurance). God's good, though, Lance, and my accident showed me very specific intricacies of his goodness. I'm praying you see them too.