Here is one of the ironies of life. You live in a small town (if you don't really then I'm being hypothetical). Life is good. But eventually that small town gets kinda dull, even though you love it. Or maybe it's the small town job. And a few extended live-in-a-bus deals don't quite cut it. So you find something else.
In this hypothetical case it's a volunteer opportunity. A little crazy maybe. You're giving up a years working potential, or a possible first year schooling to throw yourself into an unknown town with unknown people doing unknown work. On top of that, the unknown town is still going to be in your hometown.
Follow me so far? Yeah. A little crazy maybe. But hopefully good. You get accepted and follow through with occasional news from the front. You get the names of the places your going, and you give your leave at that small town job. A good job, don't get me wrong. It's just that two years is a really long time if you're twenty and the work eventually gets monotonous. Especially if you crave experience, adventure, and a little living.
Time passes. You bemoan the loss of tradition, the year away, and whether you're crazy for doing something a little crazy. But other then that you get a little excited. This small town is such a part of who you are, so you kinda want to see how much exactly, and who you'll be without it.
The wait seems long. Then, suddenly, you realize time has passed. And all of a sudden something goes wrong. There's people to see, things to do. You remember all the back burner plans you formulated that you want to see happen. You think of all the friends you never hung-out with enough. You realize you'll come back to brothers who are taller then you and acquaintances who'll be married. Your farm will go on without you, a few e-mails later people will start to forget you, and you know this, because it's happened to you before.
So even though your still that intense weird combination of nervous excitement you wonder if it's maybe not worth it.
The irony? The minute you realize you're leaving there's way more to stay for. You get closer to people, you see so much left un-done. Even if inside you know it's because you're leaving. You put a little more work into all those relationships and a little more motivation in to making things happen. And, on top of that, if you hate change you contemplate everything it'll mean.
Still, you know if you don't live you'll regret it. And that...that is your biggest fear. So you count the days and cram your time and wish you could be several people at once.

"I think you're a jean and t-shirt kinda girl." And so my fashionable, Europe travelling aunt observed to me in the card she sent me for my ninth birthday that accompanied my present. A t-shirt she probably picked up at a Scottish thrift shop.
And, guess what. She was right. I love my blue jeans. I always have. At ten I already had definite favourites. At twelve I was already admiring my denim collection. By fifteen I'd decided jeans should be acceptable for formal wear, interviews, and first dates.
And t-shirts. I have ones I wouldn't part with. The ones I usually reach for first. A collection I've built up with patient scaning of many second hand stacks. They change. As do my favouites. But, as when I was eight, my favourites are always at the top of my drawer (or on my floor and ready to wear).
To me nothing sounds so sexy for a girl as wearing worn in bluejeans with her hair loose (or quickly put up) and a favourite jersey, sweater, or...t-shirt. What could be better then being comfortable, casual, and ready for life?
Which is why this is a great time of year. Not that I don't revel fresh summer air on bare-legs when my shorts come out each June. Not that I don't love unearthing a favourite hoodie. Not that I don't enojoy hanging out in boxers and, putting on my suede jacket, or wearing scarfs and one of my collection of hats.
But When I can get up in the morning and scan my favourite, worn in tees. And then wear them with my favourite, worn in jeans. When a tank-top and good baggy jeans are what you pull on before walking to town, well... really... How can that be beat?
It's indian summer. And that's exactly where we're at. Today in my jeans and grungy ripped camo tee (coincidentely one of my favourites, which my Mother and sister conveniently hate) I walked about. Library, thrift store, post office. Recieving what will probably be my last comments of the year on my barefeet. "Lost your shoes?".
It's like a lucky extension of summer. Except I get to wear jeans.

It must take incredible strength to grow through and accept trials. To be able to look at something and say, "God intends this for me". I used to be in awe of that verse where it says that they glorified God that they could suffer for his name. And I still am. I get sick, I lose a friend, I have a crummy day at work, and it's, "How could you do this to me?" And then I start trying to outsmart him. I try to figure out ways to fool him into giving him what I want. I analize things to convince him that I've learned what he's teaching. And then mutter through my teeth that he's not helping. If that doesn't work, I beseech on the edge of sobbing, then I try "giving it to him". Which I'm very good at...if it means things go my way. Meanwhile, feeling doubt if he doesn't get on my agenda straight away.
Helps to look at things in perspective, of course. But in my little self absorbed world I find it hard not to feel as if the whole world is falling apart because, with my twenty years experiance, I think my world is.
Real prayer helps. Sometimes the bible helps. But isn't that half the problem? I cry to God to pick me up once I've fallen. then when he stands me up I think "cool," and yell my thanks over my shoulder as I walk away. I'm good now. Let me get busy with life until it throws me another punch in the face.
Punch in the face used loosely here. When he chooses to let me fall down it's pretty light stuff. I just like to look at what I think I should have and whine. I usually don't look at others. My hardknocks look like satin pajamas compared to what some have to go through. And I cringe to think of what a baby I can be about myself.
But, in the end he helps me pull myself up. He takes my hand and gets me there. I can't help but learn things after all. It's just a long slow process.

The blogging world has been incredibly slow these days. And I'm, clearly, just as guilty. Is it because everyone is preparing for and gettng back to fall schedules. Or trying to cram in the last of summer?
Whatever it is, I know I've had lots of random ideas come to me. Only to sit down and not want to launch into any of them. You'd think after a month of not posting I'd have something to say.
Well, I'm milking a lot of cows, as opposed to just a normal amount of cows. This, of course, shouldn't excite you much. I'm milking with a Mexican lady, who sings well cleaning up, laughs at the cows, and speaks to me in Spanglish. An experiance that I don't get enough of.
Megan has come home from Asia. And it is so nice have her back. But too quickly things settle back into how they have been. And I watch her growing into life.
It does make me wish I had a trip like that for my own. I long for adventure. There is far to much world for me to ever see all that I want to. But my time is coming.
I don't want to settle down. But something about winter coming does make me want to hibernate, of sorts. It makes me think of wood heat, hot chocolate after coming in from the cold, family, crisp air, and a harvest safetly stored away. it makes me wish I could just be a kid. Where as summer makes me want to just be a teenager. Either way, neither makes me want to hold a job. A job that I'm so accustomed to that as much as it has little variations, it remains rather boring. So to speak. Although, comfort can have plenty said for it. If that's what you thrive on. But, I must admit that man was made to work. Or do something.
So what has changed? Not much, either on the outside or the inside. Oh, sure, things are never the same when you get right down to it. At least not at twenty. Maybe that comes. We'll have to wait and see.
But, really, who would want it anyway?

Why Vacations rock.

I almost did it. I almost turned twenty without talking about it here as well. Because it's an event better ignored. If I ignore it then it can't change anything. How can it change anything anyway? I've been working full time since I was seventeen, living on my own since I was eighteen, paying taxes, being independant, driving a car, and living in the adult world for two years. So changing the numbers that are my age will change any of that. And it won't change anything else.
It won't change the fact that the car has flames and no back window. I'll still spend my weekends reading on the couch, or hanging out with friends. I'll still listen to the same music, laugh at the same things, and twenty is no need to grow up.
So, face it folks. The girl insists on being nineteen for a little longer.

I had the most amazing week. I really really did. No work, lots of play. Volleyball on the beach, late nights around the fire, kayaking on the lake, wrestling in the sand. Cousins I don't see a whole lot of. It was family reunion 2006, and so far, so good.
And then, on the way home, I sideswiped a lady's new explorer. Partly my fault, partly hers. My flames are now all bashed up, but that's about it. Her bumper is scratched but not that bad, but if she insists on getting it replaced it will cost a lot. Three kids in my car, two in hers. And nobody with a scratch. So thanks God for that! But my insurance had run out about a week before. So an incredibly stressful end.
Pray for it, please.

Strapping on the old gold helmet. Remnant of my days when my parents rode on their dates on his Honda. Hopping on the back of our Yamaha 100. "Betsy Sue". I think I went along just for the ride. It'd been too long. wind rushing by and curious looks.
I really need to get my bike license. Oh, and a bike.

I've got both my favourite DC talk c.d.s by my bed right now. A couple times I've wanted late-night-through-my-earphones music, and those made the cut. I don't know what it is about DC Talk that keeps my coming back. Maybe it's because when I first started listening to a lot of music for myself they were some of the originals. But I don't pull out RS James a whole lot anymore. And she was definitely on the list too.
Sometimes I want to bob my head to a little R.B.D. And other times I get contemplative to the Jars. Sometimes Linkin Park hits the spot and still other times I feel like reading to a little Creed. Toby Mac is my hyper music well Jennifer Knapp is a good anytime that makes me sing along. Occasionally I'll reach for my Evenesence and it's Eagles that get a lot of playing time in the car.
But I still come back to DC Talk in the end. And usually there's a song that's just right. It's just good music.

I am solo in this world of water
Only the tip of a sunrise visible
Like the morning light in a little girl's eyes
I crave this freedom...
And bitter is my temperament
I close the door to sentiment
And I relish all my youth
I realize that I am doomed
Fear of love and fear of You
But You give me the keys to paradise
It is You who sympathize
You and Your perfection grow
I am cradled in Your oceans throw
I crave Your freedom in this little ship
For You alone can chart my trip
And like these waves I lose my grip
And I sink into Your arms

Mmm, it's so nice to feel tired. If you can go to bed. Your own bed. You know the one. Perfect firmess and the lumps molded to your body. So nice to crawl into that bed, curl up beneath the blanket, pillow punched just right. 'Cause your head is really heavy.
And then your sore limbs relax, and you can't even raise your head to check the time, let alone change your position.
Not that I feel that way now mind you... *wink*
But everybody has at some point...
Right?