The Good Life

Actually Yes, It’s Weird To Sing “Hey There, Delilah” To A Stranger

2009-06-17T17:48:00.001-07:00

Today, I gave blood for the very first time.

I would like to say that it was a perfectly benign experience, and, mostly, it was, but there were some very dramatic details that will not surprise anyone who knows me (and my tendency towards catastrophe).

I will proceed to outline those details below.

But first, I will back up, as I always do, and remind you all that I've never given blood before, which I'm sure you remember, since you read it, um, three paragraphs ago.

I've always been afraid of giving blood. Technically, I signed up to give blood two years ago, while I was living in Texas, but just when I was on the verge of chickening out, lightning and thunder struck the little town of Big Sandy and they canceled the blood drive due to inclement weather. I considered it to be straight-up divine intervention. This time, it took two or three ~~days~~ weeks of negotiations and bribery to convince me to do it. (I negotiated that dad would go along with me, if I agreed to go; the bribery involved Emily allowing me a one-day pass to cheat on our diet, if I gave blood.)

But finally I signed up, after spending several days worrying and researching blood-donation tips on Google (please refrain from making any comments about me having too much time on my hands). I was especially traumatized after an incident on Sunday, during which Jay and John McCreadie were discussing various medical procedures involving various large needles; finally when I started shuddering, they changed their advice to: "Nicole, just don't look at the needle, and you'll be fine." And if any of you are my friends on Facebook (P.S. If you're not, please stop reading and add me immediately. I like becoming friends. Thank you.), you probably noticed that I posted a status message, last night, soliciting advice from my friends. A sampling of that advice I got follows here:

"Don't eat anything before, make sure you're as dehydrated as possible when you get there; ask to see and inspect the needle before you get poked. Then insist on watching the needle. Oh, also, ask for the least-experienced person there….just tell them you are doing a science experiment."

"Just before they stick it to you make sure you have a mouthful of pop rocks to give you that "mad dog" foaming look and then scream like you're giving birth. It also helps if you can turn your head in circles."

As you can see, I have a VERY knowledgeable and helpful set of friends.

Anyway, this morning, I arrived at the snack station first, (it was RIGHT NEXT TO THE DOOR! Honest!) and apparently the guy thought I was going to try to snag a snack BEFORE the ordeal because he quickly directed me to the sign-in sheet. I moved onto my proper place, where the proctor (proctor?) asked me a series of questions such as, "Do you have a Donor ID card?" "What is your name and date of birth?" and, "Do you want your glasses on while I take your picture?"

She took my picture with a little web-cammy-thing that looked like it was something they would use to record Osama Bin Laden's occasional broadcasts to the faithful. It had a bunch of wiring, it was round, it looked like an eyeball, and I think I blinked when she took my picture.

My donor ID card is going to look horrible, I already know it.

The proctor asked me, "Have you had any water today?"

"Yes," I said.

"How much?"

"Seventy ounces." (Yes, I kept track.)

She looked at me boredly. "Do you want any more?"

No, lady, I'm SWIMMING.

About this time, I heard my dad filling out his questionnaire next to me, and he was apparently discussing the proper technique with his proctor. "Can I fill in 1/3 of the 'Caucasian' bubble and 2/3 of another bubble, if I'm only 1/3 Caucasian?" he asked her. She had no sense of humor, and just stared at him blankly and said, "Whaaat?"

He also, in jest, said that it was gender discrimination to have only "M" and "F" as gender options. MY proctor overheard him and got all defensive and said, "Well, you never KNOW."

We had some explaining to do.

Well, he did. But since I'm his daughter, I always write 'we'.

Isn't that quaint?

Then I moved onto the Finger Poke stage of the proceedings. I'd been warned numerous times that it was going to be the worst part of the whole experience, and so I was paranoid until they actually poked my finger, and then supremely relieved, because I never even felt the poke (I was laughing at my dad who was still trying, unsuccessfully, to humor his proctor).

Turns out, though, the finger poke wasn't the worst part.

OH, NO.

It couldn't be that easy.

No way.

The next station on my journey to save lives was the dreaded MEDICAL HISTORY EXAMINATION.

Now, let me say this little nostalgic fact: I remember being with my mom, when she used to give blood. They used to always hand her a piece of paper and say that the answers were completely confidential, and that she was to fill them out, and that if she answered "yes" to any of the important "Have you ever…" questions, she was free to discreetly leave without offering an explanation or any answers to any live human being.

And it's not like I have any bad medical (or moral) history or anything, but it quickly became clear that my proctor expected to read the questions OUT LOUD to me, and expected me to answer OUT LOUD, which was VERY uncomfortable. Half of the questions, especially about past exploits and wrongdoings, already made me blush, just to HEAR them, let alone having this lady look me in the eye and ask me to elaborate on any potential "bad" answers.

(Just for the record, I answered "no" approximately twenty-five-million times, and I answered "yes" to only two questions, neither of which affected my eligibility. One of them was, "are you healthy"?)

About halfway through the questionnaire, the proctor started mumbling and speaking quietly, and I couldn't tell what she was saying, so I kept asking her to repeat questions. Finally, after one time, I guess she got a little fed up and repeated the question REALLY loudly, where it felt like all of my coworkers could hear exactly what she'd asked.

Of course, that question would happen to be, basically, the most embarrassing question on the whole questionnaire. (No, I will not be repeating it. Thank you. My answer was no.)

After that embarrassing incident was done, there was a guy waving me over to a gurney, where he announced his name (I don't remember what it was), told me that he would be taking my blood, and proceeded to HIT ON ME.

Yes, you are free to comment here, "Nicole, why do ALL WEIRD AND INSANE GUYS LIKE YOU?"

I don't know. I really don't.

I'm resigned to it by now.

Anyway, he hit on me in the following ways: he kept talking to me in this low, very sing-songy voice, gave me long, lingering looks, and told me all sorts of details about his personality, things he feared when he was a child, and told me that he just couldn't help seeing how nervous I was and that it just touched his heart and he wished he could just make it all better for me.

He then gave me the little thing that I was supposed to squeeze, and told me to squeeze it, which I did. Apparently I was squeezing it too hard, because he stopped pumping up the blood pressure cuff to say, "Nicole, think of that little pillow as my heart. Stop squeezing so hard; you don't want to break my heart."

He then said that he found my vein just fine, and was going to have no problem getting the needle in.

But of course, he DID have trouble getting the needle in, which explains why he stuck me once, then said he needed to "rotate my arm" (translation: stick me again) and then said he needed to "rotate the needle" (translation: whoops, one more time).

"Stop squeezing the pillow so hard," he repeated, "You're breaking my heart again."

By that time, I WANTED to break his heart. My arm hurt.

Once he finally had things under control and the life was being sucked out of me, he wandered away to do something, then came back to have a frank chat with me about my level of nervousness, etc. When that conversation came to a dead-end really quickly, an unexpected thing took place.

"Hey There, Delilah" came on the radio. Well, I realize that that's not exactly unexpected; for those of you who have been living under a rock or who have not visited a grocery store in the last six months, you probably wouldn't have recognized the words. But those of you who have will know that, among other things, the lyrics say:

"Hey there Delilah / I know times are getting hard / but just believe me, girl / Someday I'll pay the bills with this guitar." (It also talks pretty much every form of transportation know to man, including planes, trains, cars, and walking. And a girl that is sooooo pretty even though she's a thousand miles away: I've never been able to figure out how he figured out that she was pretty from that far away, but who am I to question love?)

He started gushing, "I love this song!"

And those of you who know how I always get myself into trouble will know exactly what happened next.

He started SINGING "Hey There, Delilah." To me. In front of coworkers. In front of my DAD.

Oh, yes, he did.

So.

In conclusion:

My left arm is still sore from my three needle pricks.

I am still mortally embarrassed that the proctor really asked me that question so loudly—even if the answer was no.

I didn't pass out.

I got to cheat on my diet.

And now that I'm over the initial fear, I definitely wouldn't object to giving blood in the future. It was relatively harmless, and I would sure want someone to give blood for me if I needed it.

There are other details to be told, but , really, who can top the whole Hey-There-Delilah thing?

And, by the way, for anyone who was wondering: yes, Mr. Don't-Break-My-Heart should stick with his day job; I don't think he'll be "pay[ing] the bills / with this guitar" anytime soon. His rendition of "Hey There, Delilah" was off-key, involved falsetto, and he hummed through words he didn't know.

All in all, it wasn't nearly so bad as I thought it would be.

And yes.

I would do it again.

As long as the proctor doesn't ask me about, you know, THAT, in front of everybody.

Now I Know Why I Didn't Pay For LoJack On My Laptop

2008-12-17T08:35:00.001-08:00

In my family, there is this darling little tradition where, at approximately five o'clock am, my dad opens all of the bedroom doors, turns on blaring music, and calls out this obnoxiously cheery greeting, "GOOD MORNING EVERYBODY! IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY!"

I've never been able to figure out how he knows that it's a beautiful day, seeing that it's PITCH BLACK outside. Some things, dads, just know.

Anyway. If we aren't out of bed by the first two or three measures of whatever music he put on in the stereo, there are huge consequences. Actually, I don't know what they are, because I've never tried it—they're just rumored to be extensive. (Me? Sleep in? Why, I would NEVER do such a thing. No way! Stop looking at me like that!)

This morning, the music that played was Christmas music, and it was, um, very Christmas-y. It was a handbell choir. (Why, why, do they call it a handbell choir if nobody is singing?)

But I wasn't listening to the music.

All I heard was my dad saying, "It's snowing! It started raining at about 4:45 and now it's snowing."

In case you're wondering, no, I have no idea if that man ever sleeps.

Actually, I do know, and, no, he doesn't.

Well, I mean, he DOES, but, for the sake of the blog readership's valuable time, I used that statement generally, instead of writing out an entire epistle on the nocturnal habits of my father, and his quiet time in the early mornings, and that it's not weird for him to be up monitoring the weather at 4:45, and, you know, all that stuff.

So allow me to repeat: I have no idea if that man ever sleeps. Actually, I do know, and, no, he doesn't.

If you know me, there's hardly anything in the world that I admire more than snow.

Wait.

I don't think admire was the best word to use there.

I was trying to be sophisticated and it didn't really work.

What I really mean is this: snow makes me happy. Very, very happy. And nine times out of ten (has it even snowed here ten times in my lifetime? I don't think so) it makes me very hyper.

So, predictably, I ran to the front window to catch a glimpse of the snow.

HOWEVER.

On the way to look out the window, my eyes caught sight of where my computer usually sits. It wasn't there. I panicked immediately.

Because if there's one thing that I "admire" more than snow, it's my computer.

Then I, of course, did the first thing any logical person would do: I went and found Jay as quickly as I could, and said, "JAY, WHERE IS MY COMPUTER!?"

There are two reasons for that.

First, he's the first one I would expect to sabotage my computer. He regularly tries to lure me away from what he calls my quote-unquote 15" widescreen alternate reality, into what he calls "the real world".

I've thought long and hard about what that might mean and nothing comes to mind.

Nope, nothing.

Not at all.

But onto reason number two: Jay is very compliant when he's sleepy.

Like the time that my grandmother's house alarm went off, and we sent him down the street to check on her.

With a baseball bat.

A BASEBALL BAT.

Thankfully, there were no intruders. That could have been really, really interesting.

So. Because Jay is so very sweet and compliant when he's sleepy, and because it was 5:00 a.m. and I know he was sleepy, I knew that he'd try to help me find my computer, EVEN IF he was the one who hid it in the first place.

Sure enough, a few seconds later as I was wandering around the house aimlessly, searching for it, he emerged zipping up a coat and heading outside.

"What are you DOING?!" I asked, forgetting about the snow.

"Checking the locks on the house," he said, sleepily, "Did you say your computer was stolen?"

Now, he doesn't know it.

Because I can never think of how to phrase it, and I'm really bad at coming up with spontaneous compliments—even if I'm thinking them.

But….I really, really, really loved him right then. Not just because he would help me search for a computer he doesn't care about, but because he would get on a sweater and do at odd hours of the morning and venture into the SNOW to do it.

I, seriously, have the best brother EVER.

About the time I was thinking of forgetting about the computer and giving him a big hug, he sighed, turned, and started walking away.

"WHAT?!" I asked.

"Your computer is fine," he said.

"WHERE?!"

Silence.

"Jay! Jay! Stop! Where's my computer? Where did you see it?"

"It sitting right there where you left it when you went to bed last night, dear."

"No it's NOT!"

Another sigh. "Yes, it is."

"WHERE?"

He was unzipping his coat and halfway down the hall. "Follow the power cord."

And sure enough, it was right there on the table.

And sure enough, it was in perfect working condition.

And somehow I didn't realize the irony when I was so happy that I opened the computer and sent him an email to tell him thank you.

He emailed me--emailed me— back to say, "No problem about the computer….I'm glad I could help you find your way in life, er, your computer."

And on top of having the greatest brother ever, it's SNOWING.

Out my window at work I see Joshua Trees covered in white.

It's wonderful, all of it. Just wonderful.

Hi, I'm Nicole, and this blog post will probably ruin my chances of ever getting married. By the way, have you met my sister, Emily?

2008-11-25T07:46:00.001-08:00

Most of you have probably noticed that I haven't posted on this blog in ~~forever~~ a few weeks. But if any of you are reading into that, stop right now, because I have only four words for you: calm before the storm. I admit it. I've been really busy lately. And the last thing I posted was a link to You-Tube, which obviously took TONS of effort and time. But, don't fear. I have ~~three and a half~~ hundreds of ideas for blog posts in the next few days, and, trust me, they're going to be good. They're going to be TERRIFIC. They're going to be…..nevermind. Let's get to the real subject of today's blog post, shall we?

As you all know, I usually blog about my domestic disasters. If you've been reading my blog any length of time, you know that I am really good at whipping up weird-colored foods (like the grey tacos. I'll never forget the grey tacos), breaking things (in fact, I will admit to you, in strict honesty, that there were TWO broken glasses in our household last week, although I maintain that it was not entirely my fault), and generally ruining whatever I touch.

Now. Whenever I post about my culinary catastrophes, I usually print off the post and go to the ironing board where my mom is doing something industrious, and I say, "Hey, mom, want to hear my new blog post?"
She, of course, being such a good mom, says, "Of course."
So I read her the blog post. And she laughs, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs. (Okay. Maybe not that much. But she does laugh. Honestly, she does.) But after I finish reading the post, she puts down the iron, looks at me rather sadly, and communicates to me nonverbally. Her look says, "Nicole, every time you post about one of your kitchen disasters, your chances of meeting a guy on the internet plummet." Now, she's never actually said it out loud. But there have been some less-than-subtle hints in that direction. And every time I get that look, I tell her, "I'm not trying to impress anybody, mom." Which is, mostly, true. I think meeting guys on the internet is a little weird.

However. If we process this logically, any guy who does like me "for reals" (like my little throwback-to-the-90's phrase?) is probably going to know how to use the internet, and, at some point, he's probably going to look me up online. And he's going to find my blog. And he's going to be so madly in love with me that he's going to go clicking through my archives for days at a time. And at some point in our relationship, he's probably going to broach the difficult question to my parents, "If I fall in love with your daughter, will it mean I have to cook my own dinners for the rest of my life?"

And, rightly so, my parents would sit that young man down in the living room and have a nice little chatty-chat with him and say the truth: "No. Nicole isn't a horrible cook. She's not even a bad cook. She's just less concerned about her reputation than she is concerned about having a funny blog." Which is true—I choose to blog about my disasters, because it's fun to blog about disasters, and because I like making people laugh. And because people like feeling better about themselves after realizing that the sister of a celebrity could actually be dumb enough to make a grey cake.

Now, don't think that this post is done just because I redeemed myself with all of those eligible guys flocking to my blog to check out my ability to put supper on the table in a reliable fashion. No. Oh, no.
See, I might be able to convince any suitors that I am not a horrible cook.
And I might actually be less catastrophic than I write about being.

But I have this sister. And…..well, compared to my sister, even my grandest efforts look really, really unimpressive.

See, my parents have this little tradition called "Date Night". Once a week, they eat dinner by themselves in another room, and we make a formal dessert and serve it to them and they sit and stare in eachother's eyes and mom gives dad a debriefing on the week, which, loosely translated, means: mom tells dad about what kids need "discipline" that night, and why. (Gotta keep it real here, folks.)

They've had this tradition for as long as I can remember, and I can remember all the way back to before the fourth grade. (No really. Scout's honor.) And, I think it's romantic enough for them to have their own special time and their own special dessert, and their own special selves.
But not Emily.
Um, in case I haven't introduced her before, Emily is my sister. You'll probably need to know that before you go on with this story. Emily is really pretty. She really does look like this all of the time:

That's her. And yes, she deleted the background that was there and put that nice background of a…..whatever.
So. With those little introductions taken care of, back to Emily and Date Night.

Emily takes Date Night seriously. For instance, it's not uncommon for me to come home and to find her swishing gracefully around the house, asking me how my day at work went and simultaneously doing cooking several gourmet dishes, making drinks in fancy goblets, tidying the house, and getting ready The Room for date night. And when I actually go in the room, to check out the arrangements, it looks like it's ready for some fancy European dignitary on his honeymoon. She'll have candles, and some delicious meal, and ROSE PETALS.

Yes. I just said, ROSE PETALS.
Seriously. Who, who, can compete with a sister like that?!?

If you don't believe me, here's a picture. This wasn't a "special Date Night". This was just a normal Date Night, one that happens once a week.

And if you still don't believe me, here's another picture.

And that….was all before the dinner came out. I just don't have pictures of that part.

Recently, Emily hosted a black-and-white party for Daniel's seventh birthday. I knew it was going to be good when she had a little photo shoot and made his invitations.

Actually, axe that. I knew it was going to be fun when she announced the idea of a black-and-white party. I would have never, never thought of a black-and-white party.

And when I got home from work on the day of the party, she had quite a spread going.

Candles. Black barbed-wire. I don't know what the barbed wire was for. But it looked good. Black and white cups. She made a black-and-white cake.

And she was hanging streamers.

Well, they were sort-of like streamers. There was this fuzzy black and white stuff, and when I came in, I stared at it and said, in disbelief, "What is THAT?!!?!?"

She gave me this look of exasperation and I expected her to say, "Nicole, that's a (fill in the blank with some fancy French decorating word)."

Instead, she said, "Um, Nicole, that's…..yarn."

Oh. YARN! I know what yarn is. Whoops! I don't remember exactly what the point of the black-and-white yarn was, but I know it had something to do with being draped across the refrigerator. It looked good, I remember that much.

And, to top it all off, her black-and-white cake was actually MARBLED. She made a black-and-white marbled cake. Not kidding, folks:

To be perfectly honest, we didn't get a very good picture of it, because everybody wanted to eat it as soon as it was cut.

It was a great, great party. But it wasn't a particularly special occasion. Emily does things like this all of the time. Most nights I know that when I come home from work, she'll have some spectacular dinner on the table. And, on the occasions that are really special, she hauls off with something like this, a lunch with my grandma earlier this year:

Isn't it pur-dy?

Oh. And check out this cake. Emily decided to make a cake for the county fair, and told us all that she would be pleased to place at all. Modest, of course. What ACTUALLY happened was that she took first place, Judge's Special, Best of Division and Best of Show.

By the way, in case you're curious like I am, and wondering WHAT exactly that lumpy green cake with the gold stripe is, off to the right, well, I don't remember. Emily would probably remember, but she's fast asleep right now and I'm trying to post this without, you know, waking her up to consult her in the middle of the night.

Speaking of consultations. Emily knows where EVERYTHING in our house is. Numerous times per week (I'm not going to put a number on it, because I would be embarrassing myself), I will be planning my outfit for the day, and I'll call out, "EMILY!!"

A faint yes will come from wherever she is, probably doing laundry, getting breakfast ready, and unloading the last night's dishes all at the same time.

"WHERE IS THAT….RED THING WITH THE BELT?"

She'll call back, "The one you got from Mrs. Miller after her mom and she went shopping in Palm Springs?"

"NO….THE OTHER THING…YOU KNOW…."

She always responds the same way. "Hold on….."

And she drops whatever she's doing, comes back to my room, opens the closet, flips through the same clothes I just flipped through, and presents it cheerfully before going back out and doing other industrious things.

Emily is good at coordinating our clothes. Like this "sleepover" she had last year, for us, when I remember that she served homemade (!) jalapeno (!) poppers (!) and other stuff.

Emily is really good at cleaning the house.

Whoops. That's a picture of Jay's stuff during Fire Academy. Nevermind.

Emily is a really good photographer. I mean….our little kids are cute, but she makes them look like they belong in "Family Circle" magazine.

Or this one:

OOPS!!! How did that picture get in there? That's a picture of my Uncle Jim, last Thanksgiving.

And, why yes. I do believe he DOES have five pieces of pie on his plate. (There's a longstanding tradition of inexplicable origin, dictating that Uncle Jim is required to eat one regular-sized slice of every pie being served at Thanksgiving dinner.)

Back to our regularly scheduled program:

And, have you ever heard of Edible Arrangements? Well, we thought that would be really snazzy to have at Emily's birthday party. But since all of us were too cheap to actually buy it ourselves, guess what we did?

Yeah, you guessed it.

We made her make one.

For her own birthday.

For a potluck at church recently, she made up this delicious berries-and-cream trifle. The one you see below is actually not a picture of the one she made. It's a stock photo from Google Images. We ~~forgot to take a picture~~ didn't want to embarrass Martha Stewart too badly.

Emily is pretty much amazing. She's a great sister, she's a terrific friend, and, by the time any potential suitors finish this blog article, they're probably going to have forgotten all about me and be calling my dad about Emily.

Two reasons I have hope:

First, Emily is only fifteen. She's got a few years to go before, you know….

Plus. I've been asking my dad to pray about that whole, you know, "Rachel and Leah" passage in the Bible where Leah was older and her dad REQUIRED that she got married first. I'm thinking that there's some serious solid Biblical wisdom in that passage.

Second, Emily can teach me.

I know she can. Someday she's going to take me from being a passable cook and transform me into something great. She's going to make me spectacular. She's going to coach and drill and love and push me right into the world of gourmet chefdom.

Actually, nevermind that. What I REALLY mean to be saying is this: if, by some good fortune, I do actually manage to land a husband, Emily may just have an open invitation to permanently accompany us in case I lose my favorite red blouse, need to host any company, or need to take pictures of my kids.

She's that good.

By the way, for all of the guys who are currently using the "Contact The Blog Author" section on my blog, and who want to get in line for Emily, let me warn you: may not marry my sister unless you get past my brother and dad. Just so you know, Jay's approval is rumored to be conditional on a very strenuous trip that involves extensive sabotaging that Nobody Is Allowed To Talk About Until Afterwards. (Hafta test the guy's temperament, after all.)

Good luck.

And. For all of you multitudes of guys who really did like me before: I'm sorry. At least, if you married me, you'd never run out of reasons to laugh. That's got to count for something.

Psalm 50

2008-11-15T14:37:00.000-08:00

For those of you who remember Matthew 7, you might be interested in what the little kids did last week!

Yole Good Poofy Goat Scarves

2008-11-05T12:41:00.001-08:00

Remember my obsession with my site meter?

Remember how it led me to discover that I had a graveyard stalker?

Well, this time it’s contributing to a serious inferiority complex. (Kids, go ~~ask your mom~~ look that up on Wikipedia.)

But, like most of my stories, you’ll need a little bit of background to understand this phenomenon.

See, my site meter tells me, not just WHO visits my site, but HOW they got there.

If you think I’m kidding, think again, because I’m not.

My site meter tells me that some people reach my blog through predictable means.

Such, as, googling “Nicole Hearn”. Or, “Nicole Hearn Blogspot.”

Is that weird?

No, that isn’t weird.

That’s the kind of keyword I love.

People put my name in a search engine and find me.

Isn’t that just so….happy?

It’s the kind of thing that makes a person really want to just die and bequeath all of their money to Google.

Or…not.

But anyway.

People also reach my blog because they want to read about a song I posted.

Which is a little less thrilling. I mean, with all of the brilliance and wit on my blog, the people really come there just to read a post that had, like, THREE sentences (if that) of my own original writing? But it’s true. People search for the violet song I posted. The violet song that is basically one big long run-on, tongue-in-cheek sentence.

And, I do admit it. It’s a pretty cute song.

In fact, want to know how I got the words?

I googled them.

But, back to business: after that, the blog searches really take on brand-new dimensions.

Like this one:

“exuberates in a sentence example”

Or, how about this one?

“random quotes about weekends”

Or—

“good life name of goat”

Good life name of goat? Excuse me? Am I missing something?

I think I must be missing something. Please, let me be missing something.

What could that sentence (sentence?) mean?

No, really. Were they asking what a good lifetime name for a goat was?

What other kind of names do you give goats?

Bad life names?

Half-life names?

Maybe my main question is this: did they find what they were looking for on my site? Did they satisfy their curiosity?

Did they visit again? (Nevermind. I know they didn’t visit again. Because my site meter tells me so.)

But enough time about the goats.

How about this one?

“name Yole”

Yole, ya’ll? Really? Remember, I was the one who didn’t know what Yole meant. Why is google sending poor people to my site for enlightenment, when I’ll only knock them further into despair? Is that fair? Is that really going to help global morale?

There are other keywords. But one of them really takes the cake.

No, really. Takes the cake.

“What are the real poofy scarf things called?”

And, uh, that search obviously led them here. To that picture that my mom said made me look like I outweighed an entire village of Asian sumo wrestlers. To the story about the kid named Grease who pulled his ipod out only long enough to claim prize after prize he won in a raffle. To the story about the fluffy white hat and the Leisure League singers.

Tell me: would you be traumatized if you were innocently searching for a poofy scarf, and if your search led you to that story?

I like keywords. I like figuring out from whence my blog readers have come. It’s reasonably nice to know that Google knows I exist. But remember how I started this post by saying that I was having a serious little inferiority issue?

Well, let me explain where that all comes in.

Pull up a chair and sit down, kids.

Pour yourself some tea. Nevermind. I don’t like tea.

Ice-cream?

Okay. Now that you’re nicely settled, let me explain this whole story in very ~~Palin~~ plain English: among all of the keywords that lead people to my site, among all of the poofy scarves and the goat-naming parties and the name Yole and the weekend quotes, want to know the keyword that most frequently brings people from Google to nicolereneehearn.blogspot.com?

Oh. I see your ice-cream bowl is empty. That was fast.

Seconds? No? Are you sure? Then back to the story.

It’s two words.

Jay Hearn.

Jay Hearn.

Jay Hearn.

If you’re one of the five or so people left in North America who haven’t yet googled his name, Jay Hearn is my brother. And apparently he’s somewhat of a minor celebrity on the World Wide Web.

Now, you’ll indulge me if I have a few deep philosophical comments:

Isn’t it just a little bit unreasonable, that I should take the time to type the ~~few~~ blog posts ~~I actually get around to posting~~ and then that he should swoop in and be responsible for half of my readership base? Is that really fair? I mean, I really do love Jay. And it’s not like I’ve never googled him. But still, people. One in every four times that someone types something in on google and lands on my blog, that “something” they typed was “Jay Hearn”.

Okay. I’m off my soapbox now.

And I’d like to finish up this blog post with a good deed. To the unlucky individual who thought that they would find out the perfect name for a goat by visiting my site, let me help make up for the disappointment you certainly experienced when you actually clicked on my link.

Tell me what you were feeling.

Tell me about how difficult it has been for your poor nameless goat. Tell me how embarrassed he’s been with this identity crisis.

Is it good to get that off your chest?

There, child. Have a good cry. It’s okay.

Let me make this problem go away for you.

Name your goat Yole.

You’re welcome.

Why, Yes, I Do Believe I Will Wear A Wig If It Doesn't Work Out

2008-10-27T14:26:00.001-07:00

I’m getting a haircut.

Normally, I wouldn’t announce something like that on a public blog that could be read by, you know, the public and heads of state and stuff like that. (Note: HOWDY, PRESIDENT BUSH, IF YOU’RE READING THIS!) Because haircuts are, you know….sort-of not a big deal.

And we wouldn’t want to take valuable time away from President Bush and the Iranian conflict or anything.

No way.

(P.S. If you’re asking, “What Iranian conflict?” right now, please stop torturing yourself. I don’t know what Iranian conflict. It just sounded good. So I wrote it. And I’m sure I’ll impress the President with my global savvy.)

But this isn’t “normally” and I am announcing the haircut on my blog.

For two reasons.

Reason Number One:

THIS HAIRCUT IS EXPENSIVE.

And I just had to get that off my chest.

It all started when I saw one of the ladies at my work, and I liked the style of her hair, so I asked her who did her haircuts. She named off some unpronounceable stylist at a salon in a nearby city.

“I’ve heard of that salon!” I told her, like it was some kind of coincidence, which, come to think of it, it was not.

At all.

She probably thought I was a dork.

But anyway. Back to the haircut: for several months I’ve been saying that I’m going to get a haircut done there. And I really have meant it. But it’s just never, you know, HAPPENED.

Which is somewhat important in the whole getting-a-haircut order of business.

But I began to convince myself that, the longer I waited, the longer I wouldn’t have a haircut.

(I know—that’s ~~kind-of~~ totally obvious. STILL, I bet the President was impressed. In fact, I bet he’s going to ask me onto his speechwriting staff. It would clearly be “seasonal” help, seeing that we vote NEXT WEEK, but, hey.)

If I get my hair cut now and it looks totally ugly, at least it will have time to grow out before Thanksgiving and my 21^st birthday. And a lot of time to grow out before Family Photos For The Christmas Letter. And a super long time before Easter Dinner When I’ll Probably Take Pictures With The Easter Bunny. And by the time our next homeschooling conference rolls around, it will be completely back to where we started.

That, people, is what we call STRATEGY.

(Or, you know, ~~lack of faith in the stylist~~ procrastination. But let’s not go there.)

Speaking of procrastination, my mom kept bugging me about booking the appointment and when I didn’t, she finally just called and made me the appointment herself.

That’s when I got the email explaining Reason Number One.

Let me paste it. In full.

It’s from my mom:

Hi Nic,

Soonest (which I secured --that work with your schedule) is November 1 (Sat) at 10AM.

$00.00

I didn't want to give you one at 11:30 or 12:00 am since the cut would take 1 hour - and I know you'd go over on time.

Oh, wait. Did I say I was going to paste it in full? Nevermind. I deleted one little thing called THE PRICE. But, trust me, it was a LOT. Which I guess you gathered when my very sophisticated mother decided to throw vocabulary and grammar to the wind and wrote “ug” as a full and complete sentence.

Also.

With the price ~~that you didn’t see~~, let me add this: the haircut BETTER take an hour. It better take five or six or seven hours. It better take a week.

But I’m wasting too much of your time. I really must move on to Reason Number Two:

I NEED YOUR HELP.

I know (kind-of) what I want. (For the haircut, silly.)

But if you had a say, how would you suggest that I cut my hair?

Instead of my infamous glasses-post where I gave YOU choices, I think it’s time for all of you to reinvest a little and give me photos of YOUR ideas.

Just write me a little note, or copy and paste a picture so my family and I can consider the possibilities. (Please note: Google images is really, really, really good for coming up with pictures of haircuts. I know this ~~from experience~~.)

P.S. If your name is Sarah Palin and if you are reading over the President’s shoulder or something, I just want to let you know that I already picked glasses like yours and I would totally trade hair with you if I could.

Sorry, China

2008-10-23T19:46:00.001-07:00

Remember that desk, on that boat from China?
The one I blogged about?
The one I said was prompting even agnostics to pray desperately?
Yeah, that one.

Well, guess what?
The prayers worked.
Sort-of.
Actually, my various supervisors, bosses, and other persons of high importance decided that it was in the best interest of the City and Taxpayer Dollars to ditch the desk coming from China and get me another desk altogether.
A desk that happened to be in stock.
Today, when I got back from my lunch break, guess what was sitting there waiting for me?

That should have been the end of the story.
But it's not.
Because, guess what else?
The guy who delivered the desk forgot to give me the keys and, of course, before he forgot, he locked all the desk drawers.
Oh, yes, he did.
So I was sitting there perched in my brand-new ergonomically stable chair, staring at my beautiful new desk, with boxes stacked all around me, and I couldn't do a thing about it!
In case you're wondering, the color of the desk is "cognac".
Yes. That's actually a color.
And in case you want to know how to pronounce it, here: kɒnjæk.
Yes. I copied and pasted that from Wikipedia.

So anyway.
When the guy from the office supply store came back by later, I started marching down the hallway at fast speeds to tell him a thing or two.
Actually, just kidding. Halfway down the hallway I got distracted by someone with Very Urgent City Business That Needed My Immediate Attention. So I forgot all about telling the guy anything.
He ended up coming to me first, giving me the keys, and apologizing for forgetting him. I didn't hear everything he said, because I was already making a beeline for my desk.
You know, to check and see if he actually gave me the right keys.
(Hey, after the order of events so far, you never know.)
They were the right keys.
And there were four of them.

Of course, the story couldn't end there either.
It had to include our City's substantial "MIS" department being called in to set up my computer and get it ready for, uh, turning on and other stuff that you do with computers. (Note: When a computer screen is off, you technically can use it as a mirror if you stand at just the right angle. You're welcome for that handy tip.)
My coworker Nancy gave several very clear calls to the aforementioned MIS department, letting them know that we expected them to drop whatever they were doing (including lunch breaks) and get over to set up my computer before any further catastrophe ensued.

The calls apparently did no good because an hour later, they still weren't there. So Nancy called again, and this time talked to some sort of MIS director, who said that the MIS techs had left to come set up my computer an hour before, and had not been heard from since.
Not been heard of since!
Of course, neither of them had remembered to take their cell phones.

Eventually, they showed up.
But then we had to work through various quirks.
For instance: nobody had thought to bring a power strip so we could plug the computer in.
Now, I might be mistaken, but as far as I understand, a power strip is pretty important.
(Unless, of course, you're using the monitor strictly as a mirror.)

FINALLY I logged into my computer, and was going to start refamiliarizing myself with it after two weeks (absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know) when I glanced at the clock and realized it was time to leave work. I didn't even have time to open my inbox or Microsoft Word.

Cruel, cruel.

I'm sorry. Super sorry.

2008-10-20T21:30:00.001-07:00

This post is going to be all about apologies.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I haven't blogged lately.

I'm sorry I haven't told you about the move my office made last week.

Note: My desk still hasn't arrived.
It's still on the boat.
From China.
No, literally.
Last week, I overheard people from the office supply company talking about using GPS tracking to track the boat in the water.
I had two options: sit Indian-style on the floor with my computer tower in my lap, or, use a vacant office until my desk arrived.
I opted for the latter.
Even the non-Christians in my workplace are praying for strong, strong winds from China.

I'm sorry I haven't told you that I've been made the ersatz "pianist" at church for the time being.

Note: I'm terrified of playing in public.
But I had no choice.
My pastor broke his ankle and since he can't lead music, he asked my dad to.
And since my dad is leading music, I'm accompanying him.
Because my dad would rather lead music with me than the regular pianist.
Does that make sense? I don't think so, but it's supposed to.
Anyway. I'm stuck playing the piano.
It's still terrifying, even after I've done it three (3) consecutive weeks.
Especially after I accidentally started to play an extra chorus on "I'll Fly Away" this Sunday.
Jay said that the usual pianist was heard gasping audibly when I did so.
He also said, "Good save, Nic," when I managed to play some interesting chord and finish triumphantly (sans second chorus).
I am still trying to figure out why a pastor with a broken ankle can't lead congregational singing.
But we're not going there.

I'm sorry I haven't told you about the Christmas letter I'm writing for some friends.

Note: Yes, I am aware that it's weird to write a Christmas letter in October.
But there's nothing normal about these friends and the Christmas letters I write for them.
This years' letter includes a picture of their daughter holding a rat. Named Maggie.
And a picture of a sign they saw in an airport: "Attention Please: Will the owner of a white Ford expedition, blue in color, parked on the lower level, please return to your vehicle. Thank you."
Last year's letter included an update about their son, who popped the car tire on a curb.
And a note from their son, who said that he thought that food at college was lousy and that he thought it would be a very spiritual undertaking to send carepackages to college students abroad.
See?
Writing a Christmas letter in October isn't all that weird, considering.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the funeral.

Note: My Auntie Deanie (that's one name, and should be hyphenated. Auntie-Deanie. We called her that all my life. Her real name was Nadine Huff, but if your name was Nadine Huff, wouldn't you go by Auntie Deanie? I thought so.)
The funeral was today. She had lived a full life, and we will miss her.
A female officiant of some kind, in a white robe and a necklace, came and threw "holy water" at the coffin from various angles.
Other than that, it was a nice service.
Well....other than the restroom trip, too. We (Hearn females and Daniel) decided to take a restroom stop, and we decided to walk instead of drive.
Why did we decide to walk? Nobody knows.
Why were they remodeling the restrooms after that long, long walk? Nobody knows.
Why did a good Samaritan stop and give us a lift on her golf cart so we could visit other restrooms? Why did Whitney stay perfectly calm and quite inside the mortuary, only to shout, "FISH!!" (or something like it) at the top of her lungs right when the officiant was taking a phone call from a grieving family member? Why did I decide to wear three-inch heels to go walking through grass? Why did I decide to wear a suit jacket on a day that was warm and humid? Why did the funeral home provide water (for everyone present) that was in little bottles that were impossible to drink from, and that had been treated with enough flouride to make you feel like you'd just been to the dentist for a teeth-whitening session?
Like I said, nobody knows.
We'll miss you, Auntie Deanie.

I'm really sorry I haven't shared some of the recent quotes that have been funny.

Note: I'll save most of them for a quote post.
But, just to whet your apetite, here are a few.
All by my grandma. Who is really the most hysterical grandma I know.

Grandma: That lady looks like she combed her hair with an egg-beater.

Grandma: That was her favorite restaurant, so maybe we should invite the family there after the funeral. But wait -- what does it matter if we're going to her favorite restaurant? She's dead; she can't come with us.

Grandma: I have email, but I don't use it very often. In fact, if you email me, make sure you call me and tell me, so I know to check it.

Grandma: Many years ago, I heard that they were quote-unquote "seeing eachother". But I don't know if that meant that they actually went somewhere, or just that they "saw" eachother in the front yard once.

I'm sorry.
For all those things.
Really, really sorry.

What are you sorry for today?

I'm it.

2008-10-16T19:46:00.001-07:00

My good (bloggy and irl) friend Adrienne tagged me in a survey!!!!!!!!!

I shouldn't sound so excited.
But I am. So deal with it.

WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? I was almost named after an implement of asian warfare—does that count? See, my parents were going to name me Matthew Robert (MattBob for short) since I was supposed to be, uh, a boy. After I was a girl, they looked at me and spontaneously decided to name me Samara (not the usual pronunciation; they were going to call me SAM-ruh.) At the very last possible second, my uncle said that it reminded him of a samurai sword, and his comments were a sufficient-enough deterrent to make them decide on Nicole. I'm glad they did.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? When my dad spanked me in fifth grade. Just kidding. I cried about something less than a month ago – I just don't remember what about.

DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Sometimes.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? If I'm having a sub sandwich, I like Italian.

DO YOU HAVE KIDS? Well. In an ecumenical matter of speaking, we're all God's children, right? So they're all my children….wait. That doesn't work.

No. I don't have kids.

IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? That strongly depends. Which other person?

DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? Is there a difference between trying to use sarcasm, and actually using it? If so, then no.

DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Keep your hands off my tonsils! Yes.

WOULD YOU BUNGEE JUMP? All depends on the length of the bungee cord.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? I haven't eaten a regular bowl of cereal (you know, milk, bowl, spoon, etc.) in almost ten years. I like dry cereal, but I just can't stomach the whole drinking-milk thing. Isn't that weird? Anyway, when I do eat dry cereal, ALERT granola is really, really good. No seriously. If you've never had it, I have only two words for you: make it.

DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? My theory is this: when I'm putting my shoes on in the morning, I'm perky, energetic, and ready to go for the day (well, at least I'm energetic in direct proportion to my quality of sleep the night before, but let's not stray OT). When I take my shoes off at night, I'm tired.
Question answered?

DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? I can have a strong personality, but I strain to pick up a fifty-pound bag of dogfood at Costco.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM? Ice-cream, categorically, is my favorite. Thing. Ever.

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? Their gender?

RED OR PINK? Red.

WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? Don't ask.

WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? My brother. I feel like I rarely see him anymore.

WHAT COLOR SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? Cute little brown shoes that I wish I'd bought five pair of when they came out. They're professional enough to wear to work (heels, leather) and they're flip-flops. Flip-flops!

WHAT WAS THE LAST THING YOU ATE? Whatever it was, it was way too long ago. I'm starving. Actually, it was a burrito my mom made—and some chips. Actually, no. It was a breath-mint. Do breath-mints count?

WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? A modern work environment. [HT: my formal job description]

IF YOU WHERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Probably the one that got chewed up so badly [by the dog then the baby] that nobody can tell what color it used to be.

FAVORITE SMELLS? Pear blossom body spray, roses, campfires, and autumn. Yes. Autumn is a smell. Well, sort-of.

WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? My sister. We talked for eight minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Yesterday.

FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH? Hockey! I love to watch people get their teeth busted out! Or not. I really don't watch sports, but I'm mildly fond of football, I suppose, if there is positively nothing else to watch.

HAIR COLOR? On a good day: brown. After a summer of swimming in high school, it was green. (Is that WTMI? Sorry. It really was green. Public pools and chlorine, I tell you…)

EYE COLOR? Grey.

DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? I wish! But I can't even put eye drops in my own eyes.

FAVORITE FOOD? The stuff my mom makes. To be a little more specific, we have a fettucini alfredo recipe with romano and nutmeg that is really something else, I like to make orange chicken occasionally, and, best-till-last, I am currently on a corn-tortilla tacos kick. Every night when I come home from work I ask, "Mom, are we having tacos tonight?" No, really. I do.

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? I like suspenseful movies that end well. There.

LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED? In the theater, Fireproof.

WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? Brown with white cuffs and collar, three-quarter sleeve. Nancy told me that I look nice, so it must be true. ;-)

SUMMER OR WINTER? I'm gonna pull a Sarah Palin – autumn.

HUGS OR KISSES? I don't have much experience with the latter, so I'll have to say the former.

FAVORITE DESSERT? Ice-cream (duh). On birthdays and special occasions, I like cheesecake.

WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW? I'm on my umpteenth reading of, "To Kill A Mockingbird", and am dabbling, somewhat consecutively, in some Ted Dekker books, "The Silver Chair" by C.S. Lewis and the procedure manual at work.

WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Two words: Lap top. Wait. That's one word. Laptop.

WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST NIGHT? That question is obviously for people who have way too much time on their hands. I didn't watch anything.

FAVORITE SOUND? Music is beautiful. I like to hear the sounds in my backyard, too.

ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Why does it have to be one or the other? Why can't we all just get along? *lights bic lighter* All we are saying / is give peace a chance.

Neither.

WHAT IS THE FARTHEST YOU HAVE BEEN FROM HOME??? Maine. With Adrienne (and her hubby and little girl!) It was amazing.

DO YOU HAVE A SPECIAL TALENT? I'm sure I do somewhere. I'll let you know when I find it.

WHERE WERE YOU BORN? Here in this valley. I had a dream the other night that my parents bought a house down the street, and I woke up under the impression that it had been a nightmare, since we haven't moved in twenty years. Well, nineteen. Which is basically twenty. Speaking of twenty, next month I'm going to finish being twenty. Isn't that amazing?!

Okay. The tagging selection:

Based on completely arbitrary lottery-of-the-mind, I choose:

Catherine Kinz

Gavrielle Houser

Josh LeMaster

Minch Minchin

None of those people have blogs.

So they'll have to post their answers in the comments.

Hypotheticals

2008-10-13T20:48:00.001-07:00

Yes. Tonight, Emily and I jogged two miles. I know you were just dying to hear that information.
Or not.
But it's important. Because tonight, on our two-mile jog, we stopped at my grandma's house.
This is a ritual--we usually stop and catch the last few minutes of "Wheel Of Fortune" with her before heading on our way home.
But tonight, when we came through the door, the news was on.
The news!
"Why aren't you watching Wheel of Fortune?" I tried to ask, trying not to sound too devastated.
She looked at me blankly. "The coverage of the Southern California fires has been the only thing on all the stations since four o'clock this morning," she said.
Oh.
Fires. What fires?
I quickly noticed that the TV screen was only two colors: orange and black.
Black because it's, uh, night.
Orange because there's fire.

Of course, I did the only logical thing to do in such a situation: I whipped out my cell phone and called Jay, breathless, to tell him about the fires ravaging the state.
He listened patiently, then said, "Yeah, I'm logged into the incident website and there are thirteen fires statewide. I'm on top of it."
Like I said before: oh.
I guess I was the only one in Southern California who didn't know about the fires.
Well, I take that back. Emily didn't know either.

My grandma mentioned that a homeless man, and his dog, had been killed by the fire. That led to a very involved conversation on how it would be possible for a homeless man to die in a fire (not to mention his dog. We'll get to that later.)
Think about it: it's not like the fire could overtake him in a house before he had a chance to escape.
He'd be in the middle of a street and would see the fire coming towards him.
Right?
Grandma had a suggestion: Maybe he was asleep under his blanket.
Well, Emily and I made quick work of that one; she suggested that he would smell it, and I suggested that he would think it was awfully hot for an October day.
Grandma countered: Maybe he was high on drugs and thought it was drug-induced psychedelic hallucination until it was too late.
That was plausible enough to give us a short pause.
That is, until we started thinking things through more carefully: what about the dog?
Wouldn't the dog run?
Emily said, "Maybe the homeless man was the arsonist, and he stayed around to watch the fire."
That still didn't answer the question of the dog.
"Maybe," she said, "the dog was on a LEASH."
Oh.
"Or maybe," she said, "the dog had no legs."
Yes. You read that correctly.
My own blood sister had the audacity to suggest that the dog of a homeless man who died in a fire perhaps had no legs!

We all burst out laughing.
I know it's not supposed to be funny. But it was. What a visual.
We went home and related this story to our family;
Jay was a killjoy and made a comment like, "This family is morbid," and went back to his computer.
Dad said, in a perfectly normal voice, "Maybe it was a lapdog."

So. What do you think? What plausible explanations can you think of for why a homeless man on the street would perish (with his dog) in a fire?
And, no, you may not consult any legitimate media sources for the answer to this question.
Use your imagination.

And, while you're at it, please pray for the fires. Apparently, it is a very, very serious situation.
Not that I would know about that -- I just found out about the fires.
But still.
I have a somewhat informed brother. Which helps.

I did it. Again.

2008-10-11T20:54:00.000-07:00

Well, dear readers, I did it again.
I had another culinary tragedy.
You'd think that, based on simple odds, I've experienced more of those in my lifetime than a normal human should be subjected to, but apparently there are no rules of fairness where things like this are concerned.
I was even doing a good deed when it happened, but apparently that didn't help anything either.

See, I had called Elizabeth McCauley.
For those of you who have not had the extreme pleasure of meeting Elizabeth, (you would remember it if you had. Trust me.) perhaps her nicknames would best describe her -- two of my favorites are "Bubbly" and "Firecracker" which seem so synonymous with her personality that they feel natural to use as proper nouns.

On this particular morning, I had decided to multitask: call Elizabeth while making breadsticks for dinner (we were having lasagna--and what is lasagna without fresh bread? [Lasagna, you say, but that's beside the point.]) We were deeply engrossed in an edifying conversation concerning Google Reader when I used one of my God-given senses (i.e. smell) to determine that my breadsticks were ready to come out of the oven. Balancing my cell phone on my shoulder, I got a towel in my hand, deftly opened the oven door, and pulled the pan of breasticks out.
I admit, I impressed myself.

That is, until the whole pan went flying.

I maintain that it must have been some sort of conspiracy. I mean, it sounds perfectly safe to pull a large, heavy pan out of the oven with one hand and a kitchen towel, right?
Right?
The next thing anybody heard was my frantic, "Mooooooooooom!"
My mom is always good at rescuing me. Before I could hang up with Elizabeth, she practically had the whole thing cleaned up and had a bucket of water cleaning up the garlic and parmesean cheese remnants from the kitchen floor.
(Yes, of course the breasticks all landed upside-down.)

In cheerier--much cheerier--news, yesterday my mom had the extremely helpful idea of going into our storage shed (in the backyard) and getting out all of the costumes that Jay and I used to wear as children.
You're probably wondering: what costumes?
Well, see, we have this very creative mom, who, unlike her daughter, is a domestic wonder and who can randomly wake up one morning (probably before 5:00 a.m., too) and decide to do something like, oh, say, design and execute the production of a lion costume.
Yes. You read that right.
Lion costume!
Or rabbit, or squirrel, or Moses-in-Egypt, or Laura Ingalls, or anything else she sets her heart on. When we were kids, all we had to do was:

a. come up with an educational reason why we needed to have such-and-such costume
b. sort the laundry and sweep the kitchen floor, plus any other bribery tactics that seemed appropriate at the time
c. watch mom make the costume
d. use
e. repeat next time we wanted a costume made

By this method, we acquired quite a collection of very creative costumes when I was young. And, now that Daniel and Mally are into their years of formal education, my mom doesn't need to make costumes, she can simply go out to the shed and get them.

Today was the day they came out of the shed. And as soon as they came out, my mom promptly disappeared on a trip to every grocery store, bank, and other retail establishment within, oh, say, a dozen miles, and, since I don't like shopping, I stayed home.
But I'm sure she planned it that way, because when the little kids woke up from their naps, they spotted the infamous "costume bucket" in the living room, they mobbed me and wanted to try the costumes on.
I told them, "Actually, those are mom's special costumes. Wait until she gets home before you use them."
Ha.
So the kids waited, and once mom got home, we had a big costume-wearing party. Don't let Whitney's smile deceive you: she was terrified of the costumes. She takes after her big sister, I guess, because when I was a child, one of our neighbors, who was about 5'5" but seemed about as tall as Goliath came over in a large pink rabbit suit on Easter, intending to amuse me, and I screamed, pitched a fit, hollered for an unreasonable amount of time, and, I think, permenantly scared her off.
Come to think of it, in the years since, I've never actually seen her wear anything pink again. There has got to be some correlation there.

Anyway, Emily lined them up and took pictures, and they were just so cute that I had to post them for you.

And yes. Like I alluded to earlier in this post, my mom made all of these costumes. And there are lots, lots more where those came from.

Note: Apparently I have some technical difficulties with my links, as several of my pictures aren't showing up. I'll try to fix them when I figure out what the problem is. :-) Thanks!

Playing Dead

2008-10-09T21:10:00.001-07:00

Uh, guys -- the cemetery has visited my blog again.
The cemetery has visited my blog post about the cemetery.
The cemetery visited my blog nine times since I posted about the cemetery.
And still, no fessing up.
How do you like that?

Freaky Friday, or, "The Post That Couldn't Wait Until Halloween"

2008-10-08T09:32:00.001-07:00

Okay. So.

(Do all of my blog posts start with, "Okay, so"? I'll have to conduct a survey on that.)
I planned to post this on Halloween, for three reasons:
1. Halloween falls on a Friday this year, and "Freaky Friday" is just such a....cute title for a post!
2. The post was, well, freaky. (Am I repeating myself?)
3. I don't remember the last reason. But I'm sure there was one. I'm really sure there was.

Regardless: this post couldn't wait for Halloween. I just had to post it before.

Note: Oh, yeah! I just remembered the third reason: what if I posted it on Halloween and nobody believed me? (Maybe something along the lines of April Fool's—only, Halloween Fool's. Catchy, isn't it?)

Because if you think I'm making this stuff up, I absolutely am not.

Wait.

I guess I haven't told you what stuff I'm talking about yet.

Let's fix that.

Remember last week when I wrote that I read my blog more than anybody else, and am therefore entitled to post whatever I like?

Well, that was a little, itsy-bitsy tiny white lie.

Because I don't read my own blog more than anybody else.

And before I tell you who does read my blog more than anybody else, let me back up.

It all started when I got a site meter. A site meter is an internet "tool" that ends up becoming an obsession; it gives stats like: who visited your blog, how often, what kind of web browser they were using, and, most importantly, their map coordinates.

Yeah. Map coordinates.

And, okay, yes. "Hesperia, CA" had a lot, lot of hits. I'm not the only one in Hesperia to visit my blog – there are eight people (five computers) in my household and, with our busy schedules these days, my blog probably has better information about me than they know "in real life".

But "Hesperia, California" doesn't show up as the number one visitor to my blog.

Do you want to know who the number one visitor to my blog is?

Well, I did, too.

I had map coordinates. (34.0416, -118.2988)

I had a general location. (Los Angeles, California)

So all I needed was a map.

Enter Google.

Here's what I found.

Go ahead and admit it: you're speechless.

I know you are.

So was I.

So that's the news that couldn't wait for Halloween.

Wait.

I forgot.

I don't believe in Halloween.

Whoops.

Forgot that little matter.

Still.

I'm sure it's just a mess-up; a cemetary can't really be connecting to my blog.

That only happens in, you know, Steven King novels and stuff.

Note: If you live somewhere near or around the cemetary and if you think maybe my site meter is off just a little bit and you're actually the number one faithful visitor to my blog, send me an email (nrhearn@gmail.com) and I'll collaborate on a future post with you. Provided, of course, that you are, uh, alive.

The Guys Who Weren't Very Good At Hitting On Girls, or, "A Scary Incident"

2008-10-05T20:58:00.001-07:00

Okay.
So.
Tonight Emily and I were out on a nice Sunday walk, minding our own business and going to visit our grandmother.
It was fairly uneventful on the way there-- we did pass three rather large people standing next to their car texting on their cell phones. Anybody who ever said that texting is a silent language obviously never got to know these guys--they were liberally using audible expletives while texting. We didn't pay much attention to them (but they'll be important later, so listen up.)
We made it to grandma's and watched her play "Freecell" on her computer for a little while.
(Yes. I do know that watching someone play Freecell screams, "get a life". We only watched one game, honest.)
It was a very nice time.
But. On our way back, when we were going past an intersection, a little red sports car went past and the two occupants of the vehicle, uh, said something. Actually, it was quite evident that they were trying to cat-call, however, I can't say that they actually did, because their attempts were rather lame. It came out sounding more like a dying animal of some sort.
We crossed the intersection, and Emily commented, "They just slammed on their brakes."
"Don't worry about it," I said, "they're just trying to be nice."
"That isn't nice!" Emily protested.
"They probably thought it was," I insisted, "Don't worry about it."
And so I didn't worry about it.
Until they turned around.
And turned onto the street where we were coming.
And pulled up alongside us.
In the dark.
Their window was rolled down so we could get a good look at them, and there is no other way to say this: these two guys were ugly.
Not just slightly-distasteful-ugly--no. These guys looked like they had just returned from a photo shoot for the Megan's Law website.
If we could have held them for the law, the Smithsonian would have probably given us millions for bringing in the missing link for evolution.
They were hideous.
"Hey girls," the closest one to us said, in a voice that I assume was supposed to sound smooth, "Are you out exercising?"
No, we're having a tea party!
I looked at one and said, rather blandly, "Yes."
Several things were going through our minds at that moment, Emily and I discussed later. She was thinking, "I wonder which of them likes which of us?"
What was going through my mind was: Why, why, didn't I bring my cell phone tonight? And, These guys obviously don't have very much experience hitting on girls.
Because, after that first brilliant come-on line (the one about the exercise) it took them awhile to collectively come up with a second conversational subject. They had clearly had plenty of exposure to Jack Daniels, Elmer's White Glue, antifreeze, Timbisha Shoshone Peace Pipes, and prescription drugs within, say, the past five minutes or so. Their reaction times were just a little behind.
I know the driver launched his next talking point, but I didn't hear it because traffic was backing up behind these two, and at the obvious encouragement of a huge U-Haul truck behind them, they sped up.
"I will be grateful to U-Haul for ever'n'ever," I said, under my breath.
But that wasn't the last of it.
Thing One and Thing Two had obviously decided to come back for another try, so they had pulled off the road and had turned on their left blinker--they were going to do a u-turn and give themselves some more face time.

At precisely this time, we were coming up upon the texting wizards from earlier, who were apparently still wrapped up in their cell phones. I saw that left-blinker ahead of us go on, and decided that most men (even tough men who use audible expletives while texting) will usually become sympathetic when girls appeal to their protective instinct, and made a quick decision: I was going to go up to them, apologizing for bursting in on their gathering, and ask them if they would let us stand there a little while until the guys stopped bothering us.
But Emily, ever quick, had a better suggestion.
"YOVANOVICHES," she said.
That name might not be significant to you, but the Yovanoviches are good friends of ours, who just happened to live across the street from the scene we found ourselves in. A contributing factor to Emily's reasoning must have been the rumor that once Mrs. Yovanovich yelled at a man who was going through her backyard, "If you do that again, I'm going to call the police!"--only to discover that the police were right on his heels with guns drawn. He was some horrid criminal and we never did find out whether or not they caught him, but Mrs. Yovanovich hollered at him all the same.

The car was turning around. We had to act quickly.
Yovanoviches it was.
We broke into a run, reached the front door, banged on it, and basically let ourselves in.
"What is it?" Mrs. Yovanovich asked, just as the car was slowly passing by the house.
We explained in abbreviated terms, and Mr. Yovanovich regarded us calmly, held up a dish in his hand, and asked, "Would you like to have a pistachio?"
Mrs. Yovanovich asked if we would like to call our dad, which we did want to do so very much, thank you. I told dad a few pertinent details, ending with, "So, if we're not home in an hour, you'll know that we've probably been abducted."
"Okay," he responded, cheerfully, "Preach the gospel to them, sweetie."
You've got to love my dad.
I tentatively agreed and we set out on our way, thanking our hosts for the pistachios and haven, then proceeded on our way.
We thanked God--of all the places for something like that to happen, it was on the only part of that dark, unlit road where there were any people, where there was a house we could run to!
"Nicole?" Emily asked, "Um, where would you, uh, punch somebody like that?"
It was quite a question.
See, the two guys weren't, by any means, small.
In fact, if someone told me that their momma was an elephant, I would believe them unquestionably, science notwithstanding.
They were very, very large.
(A bright spot is that they probably wouldn't have been able to fit us in the little sports car with them if they had actually been interested in hauling us off.)
We pondered that they had probably found our disappearance to be somewhat miraculous, and tried to imagine the post-incident conversation after having seen us, and then turning around to see an empty street.
"Or maybe they thought you were angels unawares," Dad suggested, once we got home, but Emily and I concluded that they were probably unaware of that biblical passage.
We called the Yovanoviches assure them that they didn't need to send out a search party.
We were safe.

Quote Post

2008-10-02T14:26:00.001-07:00

Some people post "quote posts" with really stirring, thoughtful quotes from ancient patriarchs and foreign dignitaries whose names are hard to pronounce. They tell us that Whatchamacallit Gandhi said "be the change you want to see in the world"—or was it John Waldo Emerson who said that? Or Ralph F. Kennedy?

Touching, regardless. Those kinds of quote posts are nice.

Really nice. Sweet.

But my quote posts are never touching or particularly inspiring.

They're not by famous people. The names are easy to pronounce. (i.e. "Scott". How can you mispronounce "Scott"?)

But!— they're funny. At least, they were funny when they happened, so they are fun to repost even if everyone reads them and thinks, "Whaaaa?"

After all, it's my blog, and I visit it more often than anybody else, so I'm entitled to post anything I want to. Right?

Come on, now, folks. Let's get some audience participation.

I'm entitled to post anything I want to. Right?

There. That's better. Thanks. *curtsy*

With that in mind, here are a few quotes:

Collin: It's not a touch-screen.

Scott: Yes, it is. It just doesn't do anything.

Scott [walks in the room]: As you were, men.

Jeff [smells my new perfume]: That's heavenly!

Roland [smells my new perfume, later]: What does it smell like in here? Lysol?

Don: Since you've started attending that church, has church membership gone up—all of those eligible guys following you around wanting to marry you?

Nancy [sees Mark after he got back from cooking for employees on vacation]: Hey, Chef Boy-ar-dee!

Nancy: I see she's cut her hair short this time. [She's gone through every phase under the sun….except cute.] And she can't help that.

Jeff: Mark Blair can ride with me. I have duct tape.

Scott: In Nevada, it's always about the girls and the silver.

Nancy: I'm going crazy. Do you want to go with me?

Scott [looking at the back of a Polaroid picture]: That's Hesperia at night.

Shore 'Nuff

2008-09-29T18:27:00.001-07:00

My mom was busy getting supper ready for a party the other night, and was evidently flustered because she said, rather authoritatively, "Grandma's watermelon may or may not be cut when she brings it."

Dad stared. "You're kidding!"

When grandma arrived, her watermelon either had been cut or hadn't (in this case had), and mom crowed, triumphantly, "See?"

"Sure enough," dad said.

And it was sure enough.

A Great Quote

2008-09-27T20:29:00.001-07:00

"We may be earnestly desiring to be obedient and holy.

But we may be missing the fact that it is here,

where we happen to be at this moment

and not in another place and another time, that we may learn to love Him –

here where it seems He is not at work, where His will seems obscure or frightening,

where He is not doing what we expected Him to do, where He is most absent.

Here and nowhere else is the appointed place.

If faith does not go to work here, it will not go to work at all."

~Elisabeth Elliot

F For Effort

2008-09-26T10:03:00.001-07:00

So.
This morning, when I was minding my own business, Mally came up to me and said, "Nicole: stink."
I won't dazzle you all with my deductive reasoning and logic skills, but let me just make it clear that I had no problems interpreting what Mally was trying to tell me: Whitney needed a diaper change.

I placidly walked Whitney to the back room, and then forgot about her, because Jay distracted me and made me laugh. (It was his fault. Honest, it was.)

When I finally remembered my somber errand, I called out, "WHITNEY!"
"Yeh." (More translations necessary, I know. Whitney says, "Yeh" to say, uh, "Yes.")
Turns out, she'd been amused by Jay, too.
She was hiding under his chair.

We reunited, I did what needed to be done, and while I was trying to wrap things up (quite literally) she kept squirming and laughing and creating a general brouhaha. It took me three or four tries to get her pants back on, but I finally plopped her down on the ground so she could run off and play, while I cheerfully went to dispose of the evidence. I noticed that, as I left, Whitney toppled and fell on her face.
"Be careful!" I admonished smartly.

While I was outside at the trashcan, I heard my mom laughing.
Let me clarify.
She wasn't laughing: she was LAUGHING.
When my mom laughs like that, I know something is reallyreallyreallyreally funny.

Well, turns out, it was. When I came back inside, she could barely talk she was laughing so hard.
"You get an F!" she said.
She was talking to ME.

She held up Whitney.
It seems that, somehow, I managed to put both of Whitney's legs into the same pant leg.

If you've ever read C.S. Lewis' book, "Voyage Of The Dawn Treader", picture Whitney appearing as the perfect likeness of a monopod.

It was embarrassing.
Even if mom did find it wildly amusing.

Sweet Dreams

2008-09-25T12:57:00.001-07:00

We –meaning, the Public Works Department where I am employed—have quite a few people traveling—meaning, going to business-related trips—this week and through the end of the month.

Like, almost thirty people.

Thirty. People.

This is significant to me because I made all of the travel arrangements.

Think sixteen thousand calls to hotel reservation hotlines.

Well. Maybe not sixteen thousand.

But something awfully close to that.

This is also significant because I'm just so worried that they're going to get there and something's going to go wrong.

Sooooooooooo worried. (Is that enough "o's" to get the point across?)

I can just imagine the check-in disasters that could possibly happen:

NOTE TO ANYONE WITH AN ACTIVE HEART CONDITION: These are not actual situations. These are hypothetical situations.

· The guys get down to San Diego, and the night clerk there smiles and tells them that there will be a seven hundred dollar surcharge for the San Diego Support The California Budget Deficit fund.

· The confirmation numbers were all one digit off, and therefore our pre-paid check accidentally pays for a cute little couple from Singapore to have a stay free-of-charge.

· The folks in Las Vegas claim that there was never a check sent to cover the costs. Check? What check?

· The guys get collectively locked out of their hotel rooms (for the sake of this situational scene, let's pretend they all forgot them at the conference that day). Patrons see fifteen guys in a hallway and mistakenly assume it's a situation involving gang violence. Someone rings the fire alarm, thinking that it will be a reliable way to summon law enforcement personnel. Paranoia breaks out in Reno, NV. The city goes into lockdown. The City Attorney is contacted on his personal cell phone to negotiate terms for bail.

· Between the time when I booked the hotel and when the guys showed up, the hotel is converted to a City Zoo.

· The cute little couple from Singapore gets to their room and doesn't like the color of the carpet, so they tell the clerk thanks-but-no-thanks and head across the street to the Sheraton, so the taxpayer dollars from our City are completely wasted!

See? Aren't all those possibilities totally frightening?

Can you tell I'm nervous about all the travel happening this week?

Wake me up when September is over and everybody's home, please.

Anniversary "Surprise"

2008-09-24T16:00:00.001-07:00

Monday morning was my parents' 23^rd wedding anniversary. Well, Monday afternoon, technically, but who cares about technicalities?

I don't know what possessed us, but Emily and I decided to help them "celebrate" by getting up at 4:30 a.m. to make breakfast and surprise them. My dad's alarm goes off at 4:40, so we wanted to at least have the process started by the time his alarm went off.

Now, if that doesn't make sense to you, let me explain it in simple English:

If dad woke up to smell food being cooked, maybe he would get the idea that it was a surprise, and, well….I guess the ultimate goal was for him to fall back asleep until we were done. Doesn't sleeping in sound like a romantic thing to do on one's anniversary?

Well, about five minutes into the breakfast-preparation project, Emily turned to me and said, "What if I went and turned his alarm off?"

It was a brilliant idea.

Complication: Dad was not, and I repeat, NOT, expecting intruders in his room at that hour of the morning, so there was no telling what he would do if he woke up and saw a long-haired figure next to his bed messing with his alarm clock.

"Be safe," I said, feebly.

Note: Emily claims that when I said, "Be safe," I really meant, "If you wake dad up, I'm going to KILL you!"

I plead the fifth.

"Okay," she said.

A few minutes later, she came back in the kitchen, with the whole matter sewn up nicely: "I turned the alarm clock off, shut the door, and now we can let the dog out so she doesn't make any noise." (I knew I kept that girl around for a reason.)

With that taken care of, we had a little bit more time to make breakfast. The menu was rather simple—breakfast burritos and coffee cake and apple slices and orange juice. (Who wants a huge breakfast at 4:30 in the morning anyway?!)

I know the question on everyone's minds right now: who made the coffee cake?

Well, even if that wasn't on your mind, I'll tell you. I made that coffee cake, thank you very much.

I know what you're thinking now, too: Wait. Making coffee cake is a domestic activity. You have terrible luck with things like that. Was it a disaster?

Yes. It was a disaster, but, it's not fair to assume that everything I make in the kitchen is a catastrophe. (You just think it is, because I never blog about the meal projects that work out. Other than, you know, The Pioneer Woman Cooks, or, Orangette, nobody likes to read about people's everyday meals. "And then I made applesauce, which turned out, and then I made cheese bread, which turned out, and then I made…." You get the point.)

But.

To redeem myself, let me say, once-and-for-all: the coffee cake turned out.

Everybody liked it.

That's all that mattered.

I could blog about the disaster of the coffee cake, but, by now, you all could probably write the blog post for me, as almost everything that can possibly go wrong has, at some point, gone wrong for me at one time or another.

So, I won't blog about the coffee cake.

Suffice it to say that my nice dad saw how frustrated I was afterwards and tried to comfort me by saying, "Good morning, Betty Crocker!" for several long periods of time thereafter.

So.

Back to the story.

We got breakfast finished by 4:50 and there was still no sign of any stirring in the parents' room. We woke the other kids up, and they quickly caught the vision.

With the possible exception of Jay, who is usually disoriented in the morning hours. Especially the pre-five-a.m. hours.

We took the plates of food down the hall, threw the door open, started singing, "Happy Anniversary To You" (think: "happy birthday", only….not) and switched the lights on.

SURPRISE!!

Oh, they were surprised, all right.

It took them a good long time to wake up, and then they sat there staring at us for awhile.

"What time did you get up?" dad asked, fin-ally.

"Happy Anniversary!" we said.

After they were fully awake (took awhile, believe me) they thought it was a great idea and said they were some of the best breakfast burritos EVER.

Just guessing, but that probably has something to do with the fact that Emily made them, not me.

While we were all sitting around sharing good cheer at five o'clock in the morning, celebrating the twenty-three years of wedded bliss our parents have enjoyed, we looked over at Jay, who was quieter than usual.

He'd fallen back asleep.

Moving

2008-09-23T20:16:00.001-07:00

We're moving.

Now, wait. Before you pull out the Kleenex and start spontaneously planning expensive goodbye parties (I flatter myself), don't freak.

By "we" I mean, myself and my coworkers. By "move", I mean we're moving our office to a new facility.

It sounds much, much scarier than it actually is. We're even moving closer to my house, so I'll have less than three miles to drive to work. And I'll have more office space. And I'll have very classy desk. And I'll have a huge, huge piece of glass in front of me. I'll have my very own panic button in case anything is, uh, panicking me.

Can you say, "win/win"?

I can.

Win/Win.

See?

But. For all the many benefits of moving, the downside of moving is this little seven-letter word that strikes terror in even the bravest hearts.

Yes, my friends. You guessed it.

P-A-C-K-I-N-G.

Today, we're packing.

Unlike moving, packing is a lot, lot scarier than it sounds. Putting things in boxes is a fairly benign part of the process—the challenge is in getting all three clerical women here to agree on how and when and what to pack. I decided to be industrious today, and packed two shelves—apparently the only two shelves in the whole world that Nancy wanted to remain unpacked.

"Simple miscommunication," she said, which was an understatement.

Whoops.

Right now, we're taking a little break, since everyone is a little frazzled. Who knew that packing up office supplies could get people frazzled?

So, in the meantime, Nancy is starting to survey the contents of her own desk and decide what needs to be kept and what needs to be chucked. The most unusual item so far has been a very, very large, hideous orange fanny-pack with wide straps and bulging contents. It's an emergency fanny pack, designed to sustain life for one week in case of a worldwide flood, nuclear warfare, or the second big bang.

It includes nutrition. Think: a brick of calories, supposed to resemble energy bars.

It includes water. Think: Seven little pouches about the size of a Capri-Sun. Who knows -- maybe people aren't as thirsty after a nuclear blast.

It includes a small vial. Nancy thinks it's for any necessary, uh," urine samples" during the world turmoil. I think it's probably to use in drinking those little gulps of water.

Anyway. As hideous and as bulky as it is, none of us can think of a good reason to give it away—except, possibly, that the panic button is just as good in an emergency as any old fanny pack.

Do you guys think I might be onto something?

September Quote Post

2008-09-21T08:33:00.001-07:00

September Quote Post

Yep. It's time for another round of quotes.

Nancy (to Scott, carrying lots of building plans): Do you need help?

Scott: Yeah—do you have a match?

Mark: I don't know the difference between getting a fixed-wing and helicopter pilot's license.

J: Uh, cost.

Nancy: So did you enjoy your lunch?

Mark: Sure. Why?

Nancy: I see your shirt enjoyed it too.

Mark: If you would have given blood, you could have had a classy pink arm-band right now.

Mark: Those two are koo-koo as cocoa puffs.

Jeff: What did you do with your carpet?

Jeff O: Took it to Advance Disposal.

Jeff: Disposing of things properly, I see.

Nancy: This Outlook Reoccurrence feature is…..amazing. [A little while later, mumbles:] I feel like a new woman.

Nancy: They couldn't stand eachother except to have eighteen kids.

Nancy: Man, Scott, you're sneezing a lot! What's your favorite flower, just so I know when your heart stops? We can make sure we have some of those on hand for the funeral.

Nancy: You say 'no' in German by saying, 'nein'.

Wayne: Really? Well, I mean, yeah, I'm German.

Nancy: Me, too.

Wayne: Well, how much?

Nancy: Um…probably…half?

Wayne: Then I'm three-quarters.

Nancy: Well, Wayne, you didn't fall off the turnip truck yesterday, so it's not like you don't know about these things.

Wayne: Yeah, day before yesterday, actually.

Nancy: Are you ever afraid that you guys won't be able to get out of a hole fast enough, because he's so large?

Rick: That's why I always exit the hole first.

Nancy: Rick!

Rick: Well, you asked me a question, and I was going to answer you honestly.

Nancy: [That crow] was scrawny and ugly.

(Roland walks past at the last half of sentence.)

Jeff: Nancy, I really don't think it's nice to talk that way about Roland.

Nancy: She always has a million and one reasons why it isn't her fault. Watch.

Nancy: Their company provides the porta-potties for CDF. Or, I guess it wouldn't be CDF—it would be Arizona-DF.

Nancy: Forgive me, Lord. And bless the pygmies in China—or wherever they are.

Nancy: This is stupid, but it just came to my mind—

Wayne: Isn't "it's stupid, but it just came to my mind" usual for you, Nancy?

Scott: Your wife was right. Take her to dinner.

Wayne: Wait, did I just hear you say that you're taking my wife to dinner?

Scott: No. You're taking her to dinner. And you're going to say, "Nice job, honey. You were right."

Jay: I thought there was a full pool when I left this morning. What happened?
Emily: He was playing water-polo with himself, and he got a little out-of-hand.

Acts Of God

2008-09-19T12:08:00.001-07:00

This morning, while we were sitting at our "Bible Table," uh, reading the Bible, my dad apparently extended his legs too far and connected with foreign objects under the table.

"It's dirty under the table," he noted.

"You just messed up our hooooooooouse!" Mally said. Evidently the little kids had established somewhat of a domestic dwelling, using the table as a roof over their heads.

"Whoops!" Dad replied, "Didn't realize we had a village under the table. Sorry, guys."

"It's Hurricane Mike," my mom explained.

Our Bible Times are never dull.

Sweet Violets

2008-09-18T12:37:00.001-07:00

Heard a perfectly old couple sing this on Sunday. Found it enchanting--mostly the nostagia, really--of seeing an old couple still in love.

They kissed at the end.

It was a good, good, time. Folk songs have that effect--usually.

(Chorus) Sweet violets, sweeter than the roses,

Covered all over from head to toe,

Covered all over with sweet violets.

There once was a farmer who took a young miss

In back of the barn where he gave her a.....

...Lecture on horses and chickens and eggs,

And told her that she had such beautiful...

...Manners that suited a girl of her charms,

A girl that he wanted to take in his...

...Washing and ironing and then, if she did,

They could get married and raise lots of...

(Chorus) Sweet violets, sweeter than the roses,

Covered all over from head to toe,

Covered all over with sweet violets.

The girl told the farmer that he'd better stop

And she called her father and he called a....

....Taxi and got there before very long,

'Cause someone was doing his little girl...

....Right for a change and so that's why he said,

"If you marry her, son, you're better off...

...Single because it has been my belief,

That marriage will bring a man nothing but....

(Chorus) Sweet violets, sweeter than the roses,

Covered all over from head to toe,

Covered all over with sweet violets.

The farmer decided he'd wed anyway,

And started in planning for his wedding....

....Suit, which he purchased for only one buck,

But then he found out he was just out of...

...Money and so he got left in the lurch,

Standing and waiting in front of the...

...End of this story which just goes to show,

All a girl wants from a man is his...

(Chorus) Sweet violets, sweeter than the roses,

Covered all over from head to toe,

Covered all over with sweet violets.

She--the woman--was dressed in a violet dress.

As she sang.

And holding violets.

It was awfully sweet.

What's In A Name?

2008-09-17T13:50:00.001-07:00

So, my coworker Nancy and I were given a list that says:

Updated 3-25-08

CITY OF HESPERI

ADDRESS LIST

What happened to the "a" at the end of "Hesperia", I don't know. But the list itself is a comprehensive reckoning of all streets within the City of Hesperia. It's twenty-two pages long, and—stop looking at me like that!—I know my blog is boring enough without posting all twenty-two pages. I won't do that.

I did, however, want to point out several streets that really-truly-honest-to-goodnessly exist in our city. Ready?

Askew. You'd constantly hear jokes about being off course.

Avacado. Somebody was hungry when they named that street.

Barnwood Avenue and Barnwood Court. What—one Barnwood wasn't enough?!

Cranesbill. Somebody was tired.

Debris Pile. Apparently somebody liked "Disposal Site" so much that they wanted a twin sister for it!

Disposal Site. No comment.

Drexel. Probably named after the Pennsylvania school?

Escobedo. Our guys pronounce it, "Es-Scoobie-Doo." No history on that nickname was available at the time of publication.

Goat Trail. Okay…?

Kamehameha. Good luck trying to teach your preschoolers to write their address!

Kims Folly. Wonder if that had anything to do with the goat trail or the debris pile!

Landover. Uh, is Landover a word?

Lonesome Dove. Anybody got a peace pipe while we're at it?

McConnehy. Now, I know some people are fanatical about actors, but isn't that one just a little too obvious?

Michael. Now my dad probably likes that one!

Omelviny and Ojai. In a very practical sense, how should I pronounce those street names if I'm dispatching a street crew to the area?!

Pacesetters. Talk about high expectations for keeping up with the Joneses.

Pegleg. Poor street probably has block parties for "Talk Like A Pirate Day".

Sagamore. That's what you call a trilogy where the last book was never published.

Shanghaptian. Sounds like an Asian action flick.

So Pac. Uh…

Ukiah. Doesn't that sound so….biblical?

And,

Yole. Your turn—what do you think of when you hear the street name, "Yole"?

Note: We Don't Get Out Much

2008-09-16T15:36:00.001-07:00

I work in an office without windows. This is never a particularly unpleasant thing.

Except when it rains.

Like it's doing right now.

Well—actually. It's not really "raining"—there are a dozen or so drops within a hundred square-foot area of pavement.

If that.

But anyway. Back to exterior windows and rain.

When it rains, there is a big mass exodus to the Outside, to see and observe the rain.

Like just now.

It started when Nancy announced, "Someone just said something about rain. But I didn't hear where and I didn't hear how much."

Note: Any sentence containing the word "rain" is automatically a relevant sentence here, regardless of any other attributes of the sentence. Period.

The announcement was amended less than five minutes later, when mass audible hysterics reached my desk: it was really raining. Numerous employees spontaneously got up from their desks and headed outside.

Note: It wasn't considered neglecting our work, because there were all manner of supervisors participating.

Rolando was –prepare yourself for this because it's absolutely true—dancing a jig.

Note: Rolando was dancing in the rain and did not get at all wet. This should help you to understand the volume of the rain.

Mike asked, "When did you first see raindrops? How long ago? I have my camera."

Note: Mike did really have his camera.

Jeff said the raindrops in the back of our building were larger than the ones out front.

Note: Jeff was kidding.

Nancy said the raindrops in the front of the building were larger than the ones in the back.

Note: Nancy was not.

After our initial shock and wonder had assuaged, we began a systematic accountability procedure, which included asking every coworker within sight whether or not their windows were down, and whether or not they needed to go out there and roll them up.

Anyway.

It's raining. Well, it was raining—I don't know if it's still raining, because I don't have any exterior windows in my office.

And yes. We don't get out much.

Duly noted.

Marked Man (Or, "A Cockroach Story")

2008-09-15T18:41:00.000-07:00

Today Mark Blair paid me a visit. Mark Blair is one of my coworkers, and he is very high-spirited. Mark is well-known for his affection for creepy seafood and once went to a perfectly casual lunch and nonchalantly ordered a seven-seafood soup that included squid, baby octopus, etc. (Better yet, he enjoyed it.) He's a great cook, but whenever a crockpot showcasing one of his culinary masterpieces shows up in the lunchroom, you have to carefully ask about the ingredients list before trying any. He's the one who checked out a city-owned bike and

Rode it

Down

The

Hallway

While honking the horn.

(He also took several others with him on an excursion using city bikes, once, but that's a story for another time.)

Mark dresses up as Josh, our city mascot, whenever the opportunity presents itself. One time Mark gave me a recipe for seafood-free Stromboli (it actually looked very good) and then called me later on that afternoon because he was at the store and he'd forgotten what ingredients he needed to make the Stromboli that night for dinner. Mark and his wife are very generous people, and our family really likes spending time with them. (Not to mention that Mark sometimes feeds me, bringing in a half a burrito after lunch, or a coupon for a free drink at Starbucks, if I do something that's particularly helpful to him).

Today, like I began, Mark Blair paid me a visit. Sat on the edge of my desk, opened a wrapper, and pulled out a large (3.5") cockroach-looking thing, and gave it to me.

"For you," he said, cheerfully, then pulled another one out of the pack, and bit into it himself.

"What….is it, Mark?"

He was too busy eating to tell me. I couldn't tell, by his facial expression, whether it was good or bad. He got up off my desk and made his way over to the nearest trashcan, which I didn't think was a particularly encouraging sign. He handed me the wrapper, and I read something about a cockroach-candy (the impression I got was that no real cockroaches were killed in the making of the product, just that they had tried their best to replicate one in candy form.)

"Is it good?" I tried, wondering why the grand honor of sharing his cockroaches had been given to me, still holding the uneaten "candy" in my hands.

"No," he said, casually, "See the eyeballs?"

I did, very much so, see the eyeballs. "I'm going to feed it to my brother tonight," I said, thinking quickly, "I'm going to dare him to eat the whole thing."

Apparently Mark thought that was an even more exciting prospect than watching me eat mine. "Really!"

"Yes, really!" (Why else did God invent little brothers?)

"Good," he said, "Tell me if he makes it." He finished his single bite and threw the rest of it in the trash.

Do I have any wagers as to whether or not Jay will finish the candy in its entirety? And—does anyone think they know what it will taste like?

(Not that I'll ever, ever know the answer to that question firsthand.)

The Sprinkler Disaster

2008-09-13T16:28:00.000-07:00

For those of you who have faithfully read my blog and who have somehow managed to get the idea that I am some sort of domestic wonder, let me warn you right now that this post is going to disappoint you, probably profoundly. Of course, not that anyone would believe any such thing about me--after all, I was the one who, uh, went on the grey foods kick, ruined the gingersnaps, got scared of intruders when my brother and parents were away for less than three hours, and, most memorably, couldn't make it through a day of house-sitting for some friends. But, like I said, just in case any big-hearted people out there have clung to idyllic dreams regarding my domesticity, prepare yourselves for a real eye-opener.

I'll lead into the story gradually--wouldn't want to give anybody congestive heart failure or anything. So. (Deep breath.) Today I was "working" on my computer, getting ready to make cookies (ha. See, I'm not totally worthless!) and minding my own business when I heard the sprinklers turn on. (You shouldn't be concerned about where this story is going yet: the sprinklers at the Hearn House come on on a fairly innocent and frequent basis.) I looked out the screen door and noticed--no way!--some sprinkler part had come loose and was spraying a highly pressured stream of water.
Into my living room. (Okay. Go ahead and get concerned now.)
I ran outside and closed the screen door so that our (newish) carpet wouldn't be drowned to death, and then went over to the sprinkler in an attempt to redirect the floodgates. No luck. Now I was drenched, the porch was drenched, the house was drenched, and the carpet was drenched. I couldn't get it to turn off.
Just when it seemed like anything couldn't get any worse, it did.

Right now we have a bunch of these hanging in on our porch:

See, my dad has been, uh, "re-seeding" our lawn, and, involved in that process has been a considerable amount of "manure". (There is no other way to tactfully write that sentence.) This has made for an increased number of flies, and, let me tell you, those fly catchers are extremely effective.

I found that out when my hair got caught in one. If you're shuddering right now, trust me, it's much worse to actually go through it than to read about it. The worst thing of all was that, besides the sticky gunk all over the fly catchers, there were also--surprise, surprise--flies all over the fly catchers. FLIES!

I did the only logical thing I could think of: I hollered for Daniel. "Daniel! Daniel Hearn! Daniel William Hearn! Come out here!"
He didn't hear me, because, he was busy being a regular Cinderella and cleaning the bathroom at the far end of the house. I had to disentangle myself from the "Revenge" flytrap (the name seems ironic now) and go inside to call him, and, when he finally heard me, we went outside to tackle the project itself.

I have to give it to Daniel.
He really did try his best, and, if I would have had the initiative, I probably would have tried the same remedy he did. But, in any case, it didn't work out so swell. We ended up with another geyser when he accidentally unscrewed a valve that he wasn't supposed to.

By this time I was somewhat frantic, and, while Daniel heroically went to the garage to fiddle with the watering timer (a machine I've always been a little--hello, lot--intimidated by) I decided to be equally heroic in standing in front of the spray, under the conviction that it was better to get myself wet than to let the house and concrete get wet. We were at somewhat of an impasse for the next while, largely unsuccessful in our respective responsibilities. Finally we switched (with him acting as the barrier between the water and the house, and me trying my hand at manipulating the water timer). I did what I should have done in the beginning--called my mom on her cell phone to consult her regarding her advice in the situation. Mom didn't know the answer (probably one of the only things in the whole wide world she doesn't know the answer to) and therefore we mutually decided to ask Emily.

I've mentioned before that Emily is considerably more domestically capable than I am, and she did not disappoint. "Go look at the timer. The indicator will be straight up. Turn it counter-clockwise to the eleven-o'clock position." I was a little skeptical, and did what she said, turning the dial to the eleven o'clock ("system off") position (duh). I yelled, towards the backyard, "DANIEL! IS IT OFF YET?!?"

Of course, it did turn off, and things did calm down. It was extremely embarrassing to have to relate the story to my family, as I'm sure the instance just confirmed for them how terribly incapable I am. (Note to self: remind future husband to teach me how to operate watering timer before he ever leaves to go anywhere.)

At least the cookies turned out.

Test

2008-09-13T15:47:00.001-07:00

test

The Seminar

2007-10-09T09:10:00.001-07:00

An Inspectors' Club my dad is part of is hosting a seminar regarding recent changes to the National Electric Code. Somehow, the collective Hearn Family has been requisitioned to do a lot of the planning and hosting. Actually, take that back-- all of the planning and hosting. Mom has been steadily working for the last number of days to get parking passes organized, doorprizes arranged, signs made, flyers ready, and handouts printed. And today we're going Shopping. I capitalize the word "shopping" because it isn't just a normal shopping trip; it's much more far-reaching. We'll first go to Costco, where we'll probably decimate their supply of breakfast foods (we'll be providing breakfast for the seminar attendees), then we'll go hopping around to every open grocery store within 50 miles to buy out their entire stock of cantelope and honeydew melon. Our next priority will be to figure out how to actually operate the huge commercial coffee brewer we have acquired for the occasion. Since none of us are particularly enchanted with coffee we're trying to come up with creative ways to test the final product for strength. (We'll keep our fingers crossed on that one.)

Tomorrow the seminar will start; we'll be there at 6:30 to help set up. Thursday morning and Saturday morning we'll also be there at 6:30 to do the same process over again.

We'd appreciate your prayers.

Pray for--

People to come. Lots of people. Pray for it to be such an overwhelmingly smashing success that we get nationwide media coverage from CNN.

Pray for people to appreciate the content. Pray that they'll all be so impressed that they'll be staring with wide eyes at the instructor and surruptitiously pulling out their camera phones to take snippets of footage to upload to YouTube.

Pray that the organization will all go well. Pray that we'll have enough parking attendants (i.e. more than one), that we'll get everyone registered without any rioting or mayhem, that we'll have books for everyone and everyone for a book.

Pray that the food will be edible. (That point is rather self-explanatory.)

Thanks, all. It should be a grand adventure.

Parading

2007-09-24T17:51:00.001-07:00

Saturday was The Hesperia Days' Parade.

Now, lest you envision something of Rose Parade quality, let me clarify: this parade is an annual offering by and for the community that includes a great deal of unlikely entrants. For instance, trash trucks. Yes, trash trucks. An entire fleet of them. They have loud patriotic music blaring, American flags on the mechanical truck arms, and scads of workers riding all over the trucks. It may sound a little fantastical but it's great fun and we all love it.

For the last half-dozen years our family has been helping with the parade at the Registration table; our grandparents are in the Kiwanis Club, which sponsors the whole hoopla, and we are their grandkids (!!!) so we are somehow allowed to wear "Parade Official" badges and pretend that we're very authoritative. I love it. It's always such an adventure; one year we had a saloon enter the parade and they arrived at nine am., tipsy. (Acts 2:15, anyone?) We tried to get them into the correct parade lineup which turned out to be quite a fiasco because their judgment had apparently been sufficiently impaired to make them uncooperative. We ended up rearranging other people around them instead of making them move because it clearly wasn't going to work. (The driver was one of the ones who had downed a few too many, but for some strange reason no one thought of reassigning him to some other iconic community institution, like, the county jail.) The sole purpose of the float was to give six or seven inebriated adults the opportunity to wow the community with their singing. To quote an infamous Jay-line, "What I'm trying to say is this: it was the worst karaoke I have ever heard in my entire life."

Anyway, this year Jay was at Leadership academy so he was obviously missed. We (mom, Emily, and I) arrived at six-thirty in the morning, and when we hopped out of the car it became very apparent that it was cold, windy, and, wet. Yes, wet! In all of the years I've been helping with parade registration we've had some pretty inclement weather but we've never had rain. (In fact, when the weather called for rain the day before, Dad said that if rain did indeed come he was sure the parade would be canceled.)

We must have looked rather imposing, three girls standing there in leather jackets with this, "Parade Check-In" sign out in the road next to us. The Public Works guys came by at precisely 6:30 to shut down the road. This was quite an interesting event as cars seemed to be completely oblivious to the orange cones and the public works representative(s) seemed to be very unused to shutting down roads. (It wouldn't be easy to explain what exactly they were doing, but it did not, at least for awhile, resemble closing down a road.) Pretty soon my grandpa showed up with unbelievably hot Hot Chocolate and muffins and we sat to await our first "customers". This year our family and our grandparents (my mom's parents and my dad's mom) were doing the registration for the parade single-handedly, so I was pretty excited about that opportunity.

Everything went along swimmingly until I saw this.....flatbed truck (think: truck you'd see on a farm in Oklahoma. Run by giants. It was HUGE.) with about 30 kids on it screaming something like, We are the Tigers, the mighty, mighty Tigers.... They actually didn't sound very mighty at all but the part I was worried about was the fact that I really didn't recognize the name of whatever entrant they obviously were. I went up to the window on the truck and a very jolly, very round man said, "Hi! We're with the White Tigers Tae Kwan Do." Whoa. I nodded kindly, furiously consulted my paper, and returned with, "Um....so.....you're registered for the parade?"
Not a question that an Official Parade Official should have to ask.
About the time of my third or fourth list consultation, I looked up to see......The White Tiger. Actually, I just made up that name for him but it really fits. He was apparently the head honcho behind The White Tiger Tae Kwan Do Group In General, and this guy was huge, extremely fit, mouth tightened in a perfectly straight line, and hair almost completely grey although he couldn't have been more than thirty years old. He walked with an attitude, he was huge, and his feet never completely touched the ground. He was imposing, to put it nicely. "So, what seems to be the problem?" he asked.
Gulp.
I told him, and he had, or should I say, pitched, a little fit. Silently, of course. He just stared at me with this, I can't believe you just said that to me. He proceeded to say, "I signed up for this parade months ago so I wouldn't have to be in the back of the parade!"
He was furious. Anyway, I did the only logical thing to do in the situation: I turned him over to mom, who can make any mad person regret their attitude instantly. (I usually incite them to further riot; I've never been able to figure out why. :D) When he was in the actual parade (yes, it rained on our parade. Imagine that.) he did this demonstration that was astonishing. I'm so glad that I didn't get him mad because this guy was amazing. He would wield this little stick and go flying around in the air, seeming to be off the ground for way too long, kicking and hi-yah'ing and other stuff. Of all the people to provoke!

After the parade we upheld a longstanding tradition to go Jack In The Box for milkshakes. Always my Grandpa Alves' treat. He usually has a habit of ordering at least half again as much as we need, and the shakes there are in no ways small. Thankfully this year during the parade he passed around a "sign-up sheet" asking people to mark how many they wanted (the universally accepted number was "One") and what variety (most people picked Strawberry or Vanilla but some defected to Blackberry when that option became available). Keep in mind that there were sub-freezing temperatures outside (well, not really, but the closest thing to that for So Cal in the fall) and here we were all shivering drinking our milkshakes. They were really good and very cold; we're gluttons for punishment. :D

Saturday afternoon/evening was very quiet! Dad and Mom went out for their 22nd anniversary (they went out to dinner, then went grocery shopping, and then went to the hardware store to buy a squirrel trap. Very typical of them. Those two!), Jay was gone (obviously), and Emily was at a birthday party. Therefore Daniel, Mally, Whitney and I were the only ones home. I never thought I'd live to see the day when having three of my siblings home with me would seem like an empty house! For so many years it was just me, Em, and Jay. :D
The little kids helped me make supper, we watched a movie, and had caramel popcorn. It was great fun.

Sunday a friend came over with his two daughters, Asa and Monet (I can just hear the crowds clamoring for a proper pronunciation key. Asa: A-suh, Monet: mo-NAY). I enjoyed lunch but I was antsy, carrying my cell phone around with me almost religiously to make sure that I wouldn't miss Jay's call....if he called. Finally he did, but on the house phone! We'd all been guessing whose cell he would call, so it was a bit of a letdown for him to call on our house phone. :) Dad went to go pick him up, and when they came back he was tightlipped and wouldn't tell us anything until he'd told us the whole story, which took three hours..........we all sat in rapt attention. It's so much fun to hear stories from his perspective, especially after a brutal week like that one. I'll write a separate post about that, because it really deserves its own. :D

It was a great weekend!

2007-09-23T19:57:00.001-07:00

JAY GOT ON THE "SIX-PACK"!

As a Division Chief (in charge of 1/4 of the Academy), and the Public Information Officer!
Seriously!!!!!

More (extremely exciting) details to follow at a later date (read: as soon as I'm coherent, likely tomorrow).
I think I'm actually shaky. He drew the story out over 3 hours before he told us the good news. I can't possibly tell you how excited I am.

I think I'm probably the proudest sister that the world has ever known. Really.

Leadership Academy

2007-09-20T06:48:00.001-07:00

As I'm typing this, Jay is running around the house packing up all of his gear for Leadership Conference. I'd appreciate if you all could pray for him; I know he'll do well but....still, it's going to be a very stressful week. Every waking hour (which is too many every day) Firefighters who can do 17,000 pushups in the course of a midmorning and who have a voice so loud they can probably wake the dead, sitting around and staring at you, yelling at you for every conceivable (and sometimes manufactured) reason. It's virtually impossible to do things right; this year Jay is running for a position on "The Six Pack" (Division Chief level) and so he's guaranteed to come under extra scrutiny. Yikes!
Plus, it's held up in the mountains and they're predicting that it might....snow! Yeah, snow!

So anyway, if you could pray for him, I'd really appreciate it! I'm really proud of him and I'm praying that he'll have the capacity and the maturity to be a great leader while he's there, and that he'll have favor with the folks who are doing the officer designations. Thanks!

Here are some pictures from Leadership and Academy last year.
http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p264/Hearnfamily/Explorer%20Photos/DSC01341.jpg
http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p264/Hearnfamily/Explorer%20Photos/DSC01346.jpg
http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p264/Hearnfamily/Explorer%20Photos/DSC01360.jpg
http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p264/Hearnfamily/Explorer%20Photos/DSC01366.jpg
http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p264/Hearnfamily/Explorer%20Photos/DSC01378.jpg
http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p264/Hearnfamily/Explorer%20Photos/DSC01383.jpg
http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p264/Hearnfamily/Explorer%20Photos/DSC01335.jpg
http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p264/Hearnfamily/Explorer%20Photos/DSC01337.jpg
http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p264/Hearnfamily/Explorer%20Photos/DSC01384.jpg
http://i130.photobucket.com/albums/p264/Hearnfamily/Explorer%20Photos/LeadershipAcademy2006013.jpg

A Quote Post

2007-09-15T14:00:00.000-07:00

Random Quotes:

Jay: These potatoes could use some sodium.

Dad: Hi, Michael David. Wait, I'm Michael David. You're Michael....Somebody.

Jay: It's cheaper to buy toothbrushes than to buy dentures.

Catherine: That guy is bald.
Lisa: Oh, come on; it isn't his fault that he grew a little taller than his hair.

Danae: She was eternally sorry. After getting in huge trouble.

Em: There was a syringe with a really sharp needle that was blunt.

Jay: On Firefighter Appreciation Day, don't call 911; they're all dead drunk.

Jay: That guy was so nervous he was chain-drinking Diet Cokes.

Em: He was an anti-protester.
Jay: Is that kinda like a civilian?

Dep. Allison: What do Fire Explorers and Deputy Sheriffs have in common? They all want to be Firefighters when they grow up.

Jeff: How much would you get tazed for?
Jason: Fifty bucks.
Jeff: Fifty bucks, are you serious? Mark, go to the ATM!

Jay: This sermon should be PG-13 for Violence.

Mom: Peggy is like a walking time bomb.

Jay: Mom, according to Nicole, all of the men in this picture are--look carefully--men.

Dad (swatting flies): Nicole, this one's for you, babe! Whoops....I missed.

Jack: He was so mean his mother called him sir.

Quote of the Week:
Grandma: Chuck was on Nova.
Jay: Is that a drug?

Office Questions

2007-09-12T17:23:00.001-07:00

I was just notified that I've made it to the "testing" stage for an office job at my dad's work. I'll test on Sep. 29. (Along with a few hundred other people I'm sure.)
I'm a little....antsy....especially because they said to set aside 3 hours for a test relating to "office questions".
What could an office question possibly be?

If you see an item that is marked, "Trash", what would you do with it?
a.) Put it in the trash.
b.) Take a quick peek at it to see if it's confidential information
c.) Ask your boss if he really meant to throw it away
d.) Fold it up and make a paper airplane

If a caller asks to speak to your boss, what is the common protocol to respond to him?
a.) He's in a meeting and can't get back to you. Click.
b.) He's....sick at home with the flu and I'd give you his cell phone but he's probably puking right now
c.) A....choo!
d.) Excuse me, sir, is this the party to whom I am speaking?

If a belligerent customer is harassing you, you should....
a.) Return the favor
b.) Tell him matter-of-factly that you don't believe expletives should be used when there are children and/or adults within 300 yards
c.) Throw the (trash) paper airplane at him
d.) Turn around and walk away

If your computer breaks you should....
a.) Start hollering, "YAY! WOOHOO!!! I get to go home for the rest of the day!"
b.) Go on a leisurely break, get a Starbucks, and then call IT and ask them what's wrong
c.) Attempt to conceal the problem from your superior
d.) Start crying. Uncontrollably.

Yeah.....I could use an extra dosage of prayers.
:)

Corinthian Questions

2007-09-08T10:28:00.001-07:00

Today we had a very rousing discussion on I Cor. 7, which we're currently at in our Bible reading. Here are some of the questions we had; I'm curious as to your feedback.

1 Corinthians 7

1Now concerning the things whereof ye wrote unto me: It is good for a man not to touch a woman.

A man? A woman? Under what circumstances? Any? "Man" in this case is gender neutral; woman is inclusive of any woman's state whether unmarried, married, widowed, or divorced. When does the "It is good for a man not to touch a woman" stop applying? After marriage? If so, by what justification? What does "touch" mean? It is generally interpreted by mainstream Christianity to be along the lines of carnal knowledge, but is that unsubstantiated? The words must have some other meaning than their literal one, because Jesus himself (a man) touched (the same word "touch") a woman and obviously it was not disallowed.

2Nevertheless, to avoid fornication, let every man have his own wife, and let every woman have her own husband.

To avoid fornication......is that an extension of the previous verse? And is the opposite of a man having a wife and a woman having a husband assumed to be fornication?

3Let the husband render unto the wife due benevolence: and likewise also the wife unto the husband.

4The wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband: and likewise also the husband hath not power of his own body, but the wife.

5Defraud ye not one the other, except it be with consent for a time, that ye may give yourselves to fasting and prayer; and come together again, that Satan tempt you not for your incontinency.

These words are rather self-explanatory, although I do have some opinions on them that are rather unique.

6But I speak this by permission, and not of commandment.

He seems to have a great grasp on God's permission or lack thereof. Did he specifically ask God about this subject?

7For I would that all men were even as I myself. But every man hath his proper gift of God, one after this manner, and another after that.

8I say therefore to the unmarried and widows, it is good for them if they abide even as I.

So does verse 2 still apply?

9But if they cannot contain, let them marry: for it is better to marry than to burn.

Is the inability to contain one's self ever an attribute of a godly person? It would seem that if the solution to the problem of control is marriage, it would suggest that it isn't necessarily a bad thing. In other words, if "burning" was an ungodly state to be in, the answer would be to gain control, not to enter a marriage without it.

10And unto the married I command, yet not I, but the Lord, Let not the wife depart from her husband:

How did the Lord give permission for this? Was permission given because the principles to follow were red-letter?

11But and if she depart, let her remain unmarried or be reconciled to her husband: and let not the husband put away his wife.

12a But to the rest speak I, not the Lord:

Does this phrase mean that he is speaking without divine authority? Is it an opinion? If so, is it inspired? Is it of greater, less or equal authority as words written without any sort of disclaimer regarding doctrine or practical Christianity?

If any brother hath a wife that believeth not, and she be pleased to dwell with him, let him not put her away.

13And the woman which hath an husband that believeth not, and if he be pleased to dwell with her, let her not leave him.

14For the unbelieving husband is sanctified by the wife, and the unbelieving wife is sanctified by the husband: else were your children unclean; but now are they holy.

Whoa......this verse has some serious implications. Does this contribute to generational covenant, and, if so, why isn't the principle of inherited sanctification represented elsewhere in scripture?

15But if the unbelieving depart, let him depart. A brother or a sister is not under bondage in such cases: but God hath called us to peace.

16For what knowest thou, O wife, whether thou shalt save thy husband? or how knowest thou, O man, whether thou shalt save thy wife?

17But as God hath distributed to every man, as the Lord hath called every one, so let him walk. And so ordain I in all churches.

18Is any man called being circumcised? let him not become uncircumcised. Is any called in uncircumcision? let him not be circumcised.

19Circumcision is nothing, and uncircumcision is nothing, but the keeping of the commandments of God.

20Let every man abide in the same calling wherein he was called.

21Art thou called being a servant? care not for it: but if thou mayest be made free, use it rather.

22For he that is called in the Lord, being a servant, is the Lord's freeman: likewise also he that is called, being free, is Christ's servant.

23Ye are bought with a price; be not ye the servants of men.

What were you when you were saved? Free? Stay that way. Slave? Stay that way. But if you don't, don't. And if you can, do change.

?????

24Brethren, let every man, wherein he is called, therein abide with God.

25Now concerning virgins I have no commandment of the Lord: yet I give my judgment, as one that hath obtained mercy of the Lord to be faithful.

Is this a cross between biblical permission and independence?

26I suppose therefore that this is good for the present distress, I say, that it is good for a man so to be.

What present distress?

Basically, without the added words, the sentence says thus-- "Now concerning virgins.......I say that it is good for a man so to be." (Yes, the word "virgin" there, Strongs 3933, can apply to a male.)

27Art thou bound unto a wife? seek not to be loosed. Art thou loosed from a wife? seek not a wife.

Loosed? Bound? Those must be defined. They are different;

First loosed -- basically means divorce. (3080)

Second loosed -- in this context (3089) applies to a single man who has either been married before or has never been married.

Hmph. It's hard to reconcile with my theology.

28But and if thou marry, thou hast not sinned; and if a virgin marry, she hath not sinned. Nevertheless such shall have trouble in the flesh: but I spare you.

Here again---one of those catch-22's. It seems like the chapter is contradictory; Let Every Man Have His Own Wife. If A Man Marries, He Will Have Trouble In The Flesh. Trouble in the flesh? Is that something wicked? If so, how can you marry and yet not sin?

29But this I say, brethren, the time is short: it remaineth, that both they that have wives be as though they had none;

When and how?

30And they that weep, as though they wept not; and they that rejoice, as though they rejoiced not; and they that buy, as though they possessed not;

31And they that use this world, as not abusing it: for the fashion of this world passeth away.

The fashion of the world......does that mean marriage?

32But I would have you without carefulness. He that is unmarried careth for the things that belong to the Lord, how he may please the Lord:

33But he that is married careth for the things that are of the world, how he may please his wife.

34There is difference also between a wife and a virgin. The unmarried woman careth for the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and in spirit: but she that is married careth for the things of the world, how she may please her husband.

35And this I speak for your own profit; not that I may cast a snare upon you, but for that which is comely, and that ye may attend upon the Lord without distraction.

If he were to sanction marriage fully, would he be responsible for "distracting" them? Is marriage a distraction?

36But if any man think that he behaveth himself uncomely toward his virgin, if she pass the flower of her age, and need so require, let him do what he will, he sinneth not: let them marry.

37Nevertheless he that standeth stedfast in his heart, having no necessity, but hath power over his own will, and hath so decreed in his heart that he will keep his virgin, doeth well.

Is a father stronger to require his daughter to remain unmarried than he would be to let her marry?

38So then he that giveth her in marriage doeth well; but he that giveth her not in marriage doeth better.

39The wife is bound by the law as long as her husband liveth; but if her husband be dead, she is at liberty to be married to whom she will; only in the Lord.

40But she is happier if she so abide, after my judgment: and I think also that I have the Spirit of God.

Doesn't Paul encourage widowed women elsewhere to remarry?

Anyway, the questions are all very ominous. What a huge chapter. I have definite thoughts........one of the most interesting factors here, as far as I'm concerned, is the fact that Paul's frequent (4x) disclaimers regarding who is speaking (God, Paul with permission, Paul without permission, etc.) are so significantly absent elsewhere. If the "permission" from God comes from a red-letter status as many people believe, why isn't every doctrinal issue that didn't proceed from Christ's mouth during His earthly ministry (or from God through audibly spoken words) accompanied by a similar label about its authenticity and/or origination?

Sigh.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

An "Apostolic" Day

2007-09-04T16:55:00.001-07:00

Susanna Kocher just left. We had such a good time! At first I was a little worried....you know how it can be when you've known someone so well online....and yet you have almost no idea how you'll relate in "real life". I know I'm a lot different in person than I am online sometimes, so I think I was a little nervous about that. It turned out that I had nothing to worry; she was exactly like I pictured her being, we laughed so hard we practically cried at times, and we ended up sharing an absolutely fabulous day together with so many "funny quotes" it would be impossible to write them all down. We showed Susanna around the booming metropolis of Hesperia, laughed, played very hysterical rounds of Dutch Blitz, laughed, laughed, discussed family histories, laughed, managed to avoid a resuscitation of our former debate about Torture, and laughed some more.

One interesting event; we took her out for ice-cream and as we were calmly walking up to the ice-cream store I saw this guy staring at us a little....I ignored him and we went on our way. I happened to be taking another peek over at him a little while later and this time our eyes met. "Hey!" he said.
"Hi," I replied. The term "reply" doesn't really do it justice; we were shouting at eachother from across a parkinglot.
He said, "AFRESPACHAMECHIC?"
"WHAT?!"
"I SAID, 'ARE YOU APOSTOLIC?"
He now had our attention in full. "EXCUSE ME?"
"ARE YOU APOSTOLIC? DO YOU GO TO AN APOSTOLIC CHURCH?"
Me: "ACTUALLY NO."
Truth to be told, I had absolutely no idea what an Apostolic Church was.
"I'M SORRY.....YOU JUST LOOK SO........"
We waited.
"...SO HOLY AND GODLY!"
"NO," I hollered back over the Main Street traffic, "WE'RE JUST CHRISTIANS."
(A conversation ensued shortly thereafter discussing how he'd come up with his ideas. It was the first time any of us had been asked such a different question. We schemed that maybe he was searching for an unmarried Apostolic Girl since there were plenty of eligible females over eighteen, well, two anyways, in the group.)

It was so funny! We had such a great time. Thanks so much for coming, Susanna!!!!!!!!!!! It's so much fun to have such a godly friend. I love you!

Habits and Hashbrowns

2007-09-04T09:46:00.001-07:00

What a weekend!
First there was the wedding, complete with rehearsal (and cane-twirling entrances to "Oh, When The Saints Go Marching In" on the part of the groom) and actual ceremony.
Sunday was supposed to be a fairly normal day, but, no.
You see, Sunday was "potluck Sunday", a once-a-month event at church where everyone comes together to bring an overabundance of quantity and options and where one must only take about 1 in 5 things in order not to overfill their plate.
Anyway, now that it seems I've gotten quite educational about church eating habits, I'll get back to why I was originally mentioning potluck......
I was going to demonstrate an admirable degree of initiative and make my mom's potluck dishes for her. I made the dessert but as it would happen she chose to also make some type of hashbrown casserole. Now, if she would have been making anything else from potpie to stuffed mushrooms (yuck) I probably could have handled it but, no, she had to choose my culinary Achilles heel: hashbrowns. I can't cook hashbrowns, period. I don't know why but it always ends up being a grand-scale disaster almost to the point of declaring a county-wide state of emergency. Sunday was no exception. I was using a griddle and every possible location where some hashbrown piece could embed itself (and even a few impossible ones), it did. Half of the potatoes would burn and the other half would be undercooked. To say the whole thing was pathetic would be a glaring understatement. Thankfully, my dad has a beautiful family policy called, Dad Does Dishes On Sundays. When he came out and saw the mess I profusely apologized but he just shrugged and said, "Hey, I enjoy it," further strengthening my conviction that dads are a very good invention.
Lest the story seems hopeless, don't worry, my mom, who has absolutely no problem controlling hashbrowns, rescued me. I reassigned myself to the less disastrous job of stirring butter and sour cream into the potatoes and she handled the frying pan with a great degree of skill.
Monday was very relaxed; we did yardwork....well, I use the term "we" loosely, since I really had very little to do with it...and that night we had a BBQ, got ice-cream and watched a movie. It was tons of fun!!!!!
As I type this a good friend from PA is on her way here; I'm really excited! I can't wait to see her......

An concluding and unrelated post-script: I think Whitney is about to start crawling!!!! YAY!

Weddings and Funerals

2007-09-01T20:28:00.001-07:00

The wedding is over!

The rehearsal was very....entertaining. The representation was rather sparse; the bride and groom, a granddaughter (who I think was acting as a chaperon of sorts), the pastor, our family, and the sound guy and his daughter. It was a little unorganized in some ways, but in other ways "some people" took everything a little too literally (such as actually rehearsing all of the vows, exchanging rings...not the real ones but some substitutes....etc.) so it wasn't really like what I'd want my wedding rehearsal to look like but it was nice anyway. The one most refreshing aspect was probably the fact that there was absolutely no "wedding coordinator". I have a strong dislike for wedding coordinators in general; they seem to think that the world revolves around them a lot of the time. Anyway, now that I've effectively gotten way off topic, I'll move on to the wedding.

There were a lot of family members there......mom and I did the music, which turned out well....I was so nervous but thankfully nothing catastrophic happened. The groom came in to a very lively trombone trio version of, "Oh, When the Saints Go Marching In", which had been reworded to say, "Oh, When the Saint Comes Marching In". The word "unique" really doesn't do it justice. My biggest fear was that I would mess up something critical when it came time to play the Bridal Chorus, but, much to my surprise it was practically over before it began. One other amazing thing was that Whitney was fussing (dad was watching her at the back of the church) and as soon as mom and I started playing, she recognized the music and promptly fell asleep, not to awaken until everyone was applauding at the end!

On a more somber note, Jay was helping with Brandon Smith's funeral today; he estimated that there were about 800 people in attendance and they had cars parked over a quarter mile away. Brandon (19) died in a motorcycle accident; all of his pallbearers were in full racing attire and the canopies that they put up for the graveside service were racing canopies. Pray for the family; I think they (and Brandon's fiancee) are having a pretty hard time with all of this. Death, especially at a young age, is always such a jolting reminder of how fleeting life is.

So we had a wedding......for an 85-year-old.
And a funeral........for a 19-year-old.
It seems so incongruous.

I'm very thankful that God knows what He's doing even if we do not.

Jason

2007-09-01T08:04:00.001-07:00

We just received a prayer request regarding Jason (the young man who was driving under the influence and in an accident); he's taken a turn for the worse and is now in a deep coma. The family has to give the doctors a verdict by Monday on whether or not they want to keep him on life support.
Please be praying for this family, and for Jason, urgently.
Thank you.

Playing For Weddings

2007-08-31T08:08:00.001-07:00

I was peacefully minding my own business getting ready for church to start last Sunday when I felt a tap on my shoulder; I turned around and there was a guy named Joe Goodman who is getting married this Saturday to his high-school sweetheart; he said, "Um, I don't know if anyone has broached this subject with you or not....but my fiance and I were wondering if you would be willing to play for our wedding." I had heard that they were considering asking mom and I to play one song during the wedding, but it soon became apparent that they wanted me to play the piano and mom to play the flute for the entire ceremony; prelude, bridal march, dismissal, everything. In five days. I was a little shocked. I guess not very, though; there is nothing typical about this wedding. You see, Joe is 85 years old. He used to date Viola in high school, then they went their separate ways and had lives and families, until both of their spouses died awhile back and they conducted a telephone re-romance from two states and eventually fell in love again (or maybe they always were?) and now are getting married. It's the most adorable and adventurous thing!
Anyway, the critical part of this announcement is that tonight is the rehearsal. To say I'm panicked would be an understatement. I can play like a virtuoso (well, maybe not quite that good) as long as nobody is watching but as soon as I have an audience everything sounds like a poor version of Chopsticks.
Pray for me (and mom). Tonight and tomorrow.
Thanks!

Random Quotes from the Weekend

2007-08-28T11:07:00.001-07:00

Random Quotes from the Weekend:

Grandma: Who would want to be gang-banged to death?

Mrs. Yovonovich: Everyone gives off the equivalent of a 100-watt lightbulb, and some people moreso.
Mrs. Murray: In my case, moreso.

Andrew: If you believe, you can have a drink of water.
Jay: That's some biblical bribery for you.

Mr. Chandler: I don't know what kind of fish Jesus created.
Mr. Yovonovich: Sushi.

MaryAnn: He made the wine into water.
(Someone): Wine into water?
MaryAnn: Oh, did I say that? Well, anyway, I guess that would cure alcoholism.

Emily: It said his back would be hunched, but it really isn't.
Jay: Well, his belly is hunched. That should count for something.

Jay: It would take a very sick and dying man to let that guy marry his daughter.

Jay: Pollyanna....is that a pig? Oh, wait, that was Babe.

Jay: How is this magnetic?
Me: Well, it says it is, but it really isn't.
Jay: You've got to be kidding.
Me: Well, it's just not magnetic in the usual way.
Jay: Magnetic as in, when you see it, you love it, or what?

Cartwheels

2007-08-24T11:24:00.001-07:00

I was just getting ready to hop in the shower this morning when I saw Jay come down the hallway quickly and heard whispers all over the house. I went (obviously) to see what the commotion was. Apparently one of my siblings (I haven't figured out which one; I'm guessing Daniel) was complaining about an inability to do cartwheels. Mom decided to once-and-for-all dispel the notion that it is impossible to do them. She donned a pair of sweat pants, went out on the backyard lawn, and started demonstrating.
Sometimes it seems like she is still just getting out of high school; she is so cute!
Apparently she was an inspiration; cartwheel attempts were being conducted all over the house this morning.

Dates and Decisions

2007-08-23T17:41:00.001-07:00

Mally and dad went on a "date" today. It was so cute. She wore this monstrosity of a green "ribbon" in her hair and was hyped up hours before and hours afterwards. They went to the park and fed the geese (who bit her a few times, as she told us in quite animated terms after getting back). I hope my little kids are as crazy about their dad someday as Mally is about hers.

This evening Daniel officially decided how he's going to propose. He has a grand scheme, apparently in the style of Larry Walters, to get tons of helium balloons attached to a chair where he and his sweetheart can float away. (Emily suggested that if she says no he can pop all of the balloons right away, which he also thought what was a good idea.) The poor girl; maybe he'll change his mind in 20 years when he's ready to actually tie the knot.

:)

The Kingdom

2007-08-20T09:53:00.001-07:00

What wondrous love is this, O my soul?
What wondrous love is this,
   that caused the Lord of bliss
     to bear the dreadful curse
      for my soul?

I read those words above and I hear the haunting simple melody that the songwriter so appropriately coupled them with, and I close my eyes and it occurs to me that I do not understand, do not experience, the wonder. When I think of the cross, when I think of the love, my reaction is so mature, so rehearsed. I can sing about the love and if I try I can maybe conjure up some sort of emotional response but quite simply, I have no wonder whatsoever. I am not physically weak in the knees when I see the sacrifice.
And that is not always a bad thing. I am analytical, I am intellectual, in my approach of Him and He begs to be seen that way.
But in all of my zealousness to make my faith practical and led by my spirit rather than my heart, I have lately been confronted with that ominous question: am I missing the Kingdom?
I read a book this week that really isn't worth recommending. It was based on a flawed premise, I think, of modern-day mass miracles accomplished by one that had the faith of a child. It came off sounding more like a step-by-step guide to megachurch faith-healing despite attempts at reclamation by using (very valid) lines like, "Whoever said that a healed hand was better than a cleansed heart?" But at the conclusion of the book, the most profound part, for me, was the telling of a few scenes where a child had encountered the Kingdom. The book was allegorical and it portrayed a physical, tangible Kingdom, but the overarching theme was that of wonder. The child was overwhelmed when he saw the Kingdom, and had faith that walking into it was as simple as believing.
It was more powerful, more realistic and yet more complicated, than any description I've read before. It seemed genuine; the boy would so much as think of the cross and would not be able to withhold tears.
Do I ever cry over the cross? Am I ever overwhelmed with His love? Do I reduce it to spirituality or anthropomorphic language and miss the simplicity of the love that put Him on the cross for me?
And then, truly, must I be as a child to appreciate it, to have an untainted reaction? I did a word study on faith and children, and I found what I had already suspected--the heart of the Kingdom is truly best represented in the heart of a child.

Mt. 18
Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of heaven?
And Jesus called a little child unto Him,
and set him in the midst of them,
And said, Verily I say unto you:
Except ye be...come as little children,
ye shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven.
Whosoever therefore shall humble
himself as a little child, the same is
the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Humble, as a child? Perhaps humble enough to realize that sophistication will never gain me access to the throne.

Mark 10:15
Verily I say unto you,
Whosoever shall not receive the
Kingdom of God as a little child,
he shall not enter therein.

I Jn. 2:13
I write unto you, little children,
because ye have known the Father.

I look at the words and I wonder--how does one enter the Kingdom as a little child? Does it mean capturing the wonder, does it mean feeling awe when I pray to Him, does it mean visualizing the profound impact I have through those prayers on the course of history? Does it mean believing that He will pull back the windows of Heaven and allow me a peek into eternity, does it mean being recklessly content to mentally run in the wind as a little girl, barefoot, braids flying, laughing, holding my daddy's hand and believing that I could go on that way forever? Is that realistic?
Is the heart of the Kingdom truly bound up in the heart of a child, and, if so, how do I become a child? HOw do I face what J.B. Phillips wrote,

The greatest difference between present-day Christianity
and that of which we read in the New Testament
is that it is to us primarily a performance;
to them it was an experience.
We are apt to reduce the Christian religion to a code or, at best, a rule
of heart and life. Perhaps if we believed what they believed,
we might achieve what they achieved.

There is equal danger in a manufactured simplicity, a conjured sentimentalism, and I am duly warned of it and, I think, in no danger of it. But there is, there must be, also a genuine awe, that bowls you over and leaves you almost giddy and overwhelmed, the way a child might glance at a rainbow and be truly enthralled.
Am I enthralled with God? Not just consumed, not just devoted. An I curious? Do I wake up in the morning unable to contain childish excitement for ways He will reveal Himself to me that day? Do I think of the cross and does it take my breath away?
Do I have wonder?
I know that I don't. I want, long, to feel it. Wonder.
I want to enter the Kingdom with the heart of a child. And so I say, with the hymnwriter, and a full heart,

Little children praise you perfectly;
and so would we;
and so would we.

Congratulations Elliotts!

2007-08-20T08:49:00.001-07:00

Congratulations to the Elliott Family; Titus (Ty) Courage Elliott was born this weekend.
See the family blog for pictures and details.
Praise the Lord!

Early-Morning Observations

2007-08-16T08:32:00.001-07:00

Jay has his driving test in a few hours. I know he's a good driver, and I'm sure he'll pass, but I am nervous for him anyway.

Tonight Mr. Elliott is coming to drop off his car while he's in Texas; that means we'll have a BMW in our front yard for the next three weeks. Scary/Exciting.

My favorite chore to do outside is raking up pine needles. Really. If you haven't tried it recently, you should.

Every person ought to read, "On Message" by Mark Crutcher.

When you read, "On Message", be sure to actually call it "On Message"; dad, Em and I were mixing it up (accidentally) last week, calling it, "On Mark"--which was somehow a version of the author's name, Mark, and some other undetermined factors, and then we thought we remembered the last name of the author being, "Crueller". If it had been a crisis situation and someone really needed to know the name of the book, we would have failed.

It's very unpredictable to do dishes while Jay is trying to stand there talking to me; he does unexpected things (like dump Comet on my arm) and I do very predictable things (like squeal).

It gets REALLY hot sleeping on the top bunk during these desert nights. Even with the fan on.

When Jay hums the Jeopardy tune even once, it will be stuck in my head for the rest of the day.

My new ringtone is the only Josh Groban song I can stand, "You Raise Me Up".

Two men got in a spat out in front of our house this morning when one man's dog ran out in front of another man's car. The scene supposedly involved one man using his baseball cap to hit another man. What would possess someone to do something so....sophomoric? It's beyond me. If I was mad at someone, I would use something other than my baseball cap to get the point across.
Daniel has manufactured a squirrel trap and a rubber band gun during the last few days. The gun has been a success, the trap thus far has not.

l am going to take a CAHSEE practice test today. Not because I particularly feel like ensuring that I qualify for the Exit Exam, but mostly because I might be taking a general school district knowledge test (for employment) over the next while, and I want to make sure I'm ready for it.

I have a strong dislike for chihuahuas. And I can't spell the word "chihuahua" without using spell check.

I've been trying to scare Jay by reminding him about the woes I encountered on my driving test, including the trio of pedestrians walking in the middle of the lane in my direction with no plans of getting out of the way, a very godfather-looking black vehicle of some kind that almost backed into me, and a lady that made some driving errors and ended up flipping me off and other things, followed by a verbal tongue-lashing from the lady administering my driving test!

Have I mentioned that I'm nervous about Jay's driving test? I am.

The Making of Pink Chicken and Other Random Occurrences

2007-08-14T11:28:00.001-07:00

It seems like things have just been getting busier and busier the last few days. Yesterday Jay was getting ready to go to work this morning and so he wanted to make some kind of "treats" for the firefighters he works with. After ruling out several possibilities including several unpronounceable "desserts" (he wanted to make them but mom exercised veto power), he was convinced to just make brownies. Well, I shouldn't use the word "just"; somehow one of us came up with the brilliant idea of encouraging him to make MINT brownies. He made the brownies with a little mint flavoring in them, then we were going to try to make mint frosting. I was working on something else so I called directions out to Jay; "Add that little thing of cream cheese....a stick of real butter...a little vanilla....a little mint extract....and a box of powdered sugar." He hollered back that the measurement "a little" was unfamiliar to him and then hollered a few seconds later, "NIC! It's NOT WORKING! I think the cream cheese is curdling!" Mom was in another room, and was like, "No, you weren't supposed to use cream cheese!" I knew that I had wanted him to use cream cheese so I went in there to straighten it out. I couldn't believe what had gone on; I've never seen such hideous frosting in my entire existence. I don't know what exactly happened to it, but it vaguely resembled very small cottage cheese or something. I sat and stared at it awhile while he asked me if I could "fix it"....I said yes....there's always a way to fix it....I just didn't know how yet. So I started getting ready to add some stuff when I decided that I should probably just start over; it was for the firefighters and I didn't want to run the risk of feeing them something that would poison them and/or inhibit them from saving the public at large.
So I started over, made a batch of "real" frosting, which worked this time, and I was like, "Jay, what did you do that made it so....different than this? How many ways is there to put butter, vanilla, and sugar in a bowl?!"
He was like, "Well, maybe I shouldn't have melted the butter....."
Bingo. We put the "curdled" frosting aside and got the brownies actually frosted. Mom decided to try to rescue the "bad" frosting which was an equally bad idea because it was beyond redemption. So anyway, she started making these mint cookies, using the frosting, and they were very...different. Our combined culinary skills couldn't really do anything to make them remotely edible (my dad told us not to throw them away, though; he will eat almost anything in large quantities and he told us that he didn't mind them; we'll let him eat as many as he wants I guess).
About this time the phone rang and my sister answered it; it was a longtime friend of mine; I was working on some things so I deferred the phone call to my mom, who I heard talking to my friend. "Oh, hi!...how are you....yeah....would you like to come to dinner?...oh, okay....we'll see you at six." In my house, dinner plans can spring up with such little warning. Mom got off the phone and was like, "Oh, they're coming to dinner."
YIKES! I went running around the house trying to come up with something to have; somehow it seems like whenever company comes I can never think of something that they'll truly like. Well, anyway, I ended up deciding to make sweet and sour chicken, egg rolls, rice, and we served peaches and grapes from our trees/vines. It was quite a decision process to come to this, but it was one of those meals that requires so little prep time that it was supposed to be effortless. Of course, everything that I touch is never that simple, anyway, I thawed the chicken (in a hurry; they were coming quite quickly) by running tons of very hot water over it enough to break the pieces apart (if Hesperia has a drought in the near future I will take the blame entirely). After I got the chicken actually cooking, I started stir-frying vegetables for it, and somehow while Jay was assembling his brownies he decided that it would be a good idea to test-taste the vegetables. I don't know what earthly idea would possess someone to just come in there and start eating plain stir-fry vegetables but he did it, and received various degrees of complaint from various family members (except Mally, who I think would have joined him if she had been given the chance).
I didn't have time (or resources) to make my own sauce for the chicken so I literally just dumped a bottle of pre-made sweet/sour sauce into the chicken and vegetables, but as soon as I did I was like....this isn't like normal sweet/sour sauce. It was pink. Bright pink. Fluorescent pink. Hillary Duff pink. I was totally horrified. Anyway, our friends showed up early, I still had like 10 minutes of prep time, but after that we all ate. It was actually a really great time; I had a lot of fun and we laughed so much. (They didn't mind eating pink sauce....I did, though, and my dad did.....we both made a deal not to ever buy that kind of sauce again. I think next time I'll take the extra time and make my own, lol.)
They are really rich; their dad recently retired from a career with the Department of Water and Power, which may not sound like a very sophisticated job but it certainly pays well enough. They only have one daughter, who is my friend, so they regularly present my mom (and co.) with large quantities of unreasonably priced clothing. For some reason they enjoy spending tons of money on frilly clothes for our little girls, who do admittedly look adorable in them, but they are so expensive.
Anyway, they were telling us quite the epic story of a family party they went to where one of the highly inexperienced nieces had been given the official job of making mashed potatoes. I don't know about in your family, but in our family, the mashed potatoes aren't something that you just automatically get to make; you have to have proven yourself for several decades before you're given the duty of Thanksgiving mashed potatoes. Anyway, this little gal took over the process and made 20 pounds of potatoes using only a tablespoon of butter and a little more salt. (I don't know if you're familiar with proper mashed-potato-making technique, but there should be significantly larger portions of both.) To top it off, this niece added ungodly amounts of garlic (about 15-20 cloves). No one was eating the potatoes and it was becoming quite a fiasco, so our friend went in the kitchen when no one else was around and started dumping various redemptive ingredients into the potatoes; eventually they all disappeared. (Yes, it conjured images of Remy in Ratatouille, jumping over a soup pot.) Speaking of soup, they then told us about some soup their dad had decided to prepare that was supposedly good for keeping various ailments away (and most humans, I'm sure); it included 8 whole heads of garlic in it. They said, "We literally didn't get a cold for two years." I'm not sure it was worth the trade-off. :D
So we had fun with them last night. This morning I was finishing up a few applications for work with the school district, and about when I was getting ready to leave to drop them off at the District office, I heard mom ask, "Is there an 'e' in 'impart'?" I told her that I'd never seen the word impart spelled with an e, and she said, "It's spelled that way on your application."
Arghhh. Thank goodness for computerized applications. After a reprint or two, we left for the DO; on the way I was reading aloud to mom/Emily from "To Kill A Mockingbird" in that section where Mrs. Dubose is railing those dreadful accusations at the kids and Atticus shows them a different side of her than the side they'd grown to hate. It was nice. After that we ended up at a property we own on the outskirts of town; there was a fire last week and mom was fairly sure it had burned some of our property. Sure enough, it turns out that most of the fire had actually been squarely on our property, and that our property had been a staging grounds for fire personnel while they were fighting the flames. Whoops. (There were no buildings on it so it didn't bring about significant damage.)
After that we went to the store, where I stayed in the car with Whitney and Mally, who were sleeping. I had the sliding van door open, as well as the windows, so we could actually get some air (it's a hot day) and got quite a few very curious stares from people who would pull into the space next to me. Oh, well.
That's a short summary of what's been going on. Pardon me while I go put away groceries....

Ebaying

2007-08-10T11:16:00.001-07:00

We were looking at vehicles on ebay the other day and ran across this listing; look at the winning pictures this guy posted of his car. LOL.....pictures of houses, mountains.....etc. Buy the truck and he'll throw in the whole mountain, I guess. :)
He used to have other additional pictures of the vehicle that included one of 90% ground and 10% unknown truck parts.

As a side note, I was looking at this car to buy but when we called the guy to ask if we could come look at it, yesterday he was at auction, today he was sick, and he said we could come tomorrow but we'll be in San Diego. I guess that means I won't pursue it because I wouldn't want to buy it without looking at it. A little disappointing, but, who knows, maybe it just wasn't the right thing.

Active Afternoons

2007-08-08T16:18:00.001-07:00

Let it never be said that an afternoon in the life of the Hearns is dull. Here's a recounting (which is by no means all-inclusive) of an hour or two.

I was doing some writing when I realized that it was time for the kids to take their naps. I went to call them and found that Daniel was already looking for me. "I want to teach Mallory how to swim," he told me.
"Well, it's time for your nap, buddy; maybe you can do that project later."

No, he didn't want to do the project later. He tried to convince me of the merits of this undertaking. "I won't get her wet; I'll just get in the pool and show her exactly how to do it so that she knows." Smooth way to get himself into the pool. I denied the request a second time and went to do laundry after telling the kids to get cleaned up for their naps.

I came back a few minutes later and Daniel and Mally were in a very serious discussion of some nature; I thought it was rather cute and so I walked up and asked them what they were talking about. "Well," Daniel told me, "Mally thinks she might have to go to the restroom."
Suffice it to say that their serious discussion quickly ended as I broke up the committee and sent Mally on her way.

Mom was on the phone with someone and as I returned to add a paragraph I'd been thinking about to the document I was working on, my phone rang and it was a good friend of mine; we talked and somehow came up with a brilliant plan that included meeting eachother on Saturday with a friend from Texas and another friend from Arizona who both happened to be out in So Cal right now. I went to ask mom what her thoughts were on the plan we'd hatched, and she was on the phone so I told my friend that I'd call her back later with verdicts. I called the friend from Arizona who happened to be in the middle of a show at Sea World and she said she'd call me back. Jay then got a call about his Fire activities tonight and while he was trying to convey what was going on to me, mom walked in and also tried to start telling me that she was going to Lancaster to look at some bunk beds for the girls' room (now there will be 4 of us in there when Whitney gets out of her basinette). The new problem was that Jay needed to be dropped off with Fire at either six or seven, the time wasn't conclusive yet. In the middle of mom and I trying to arrange things she got another phone call and I decided to go check on the kids.
They'd gotten distracted, so we had a little training session and we learned (together) how to clean up batches of crayons off the floor. I reminded them (afterwards) of what they were supposed to be doing and joined Jay and Mom again, proposing that mom go to Lancaster and that Jay and I would have grandma over for supper and she'd take Jay to Fire. As I was calling grandma, some other major event ended up taking place that I have absolutely no recollection of, and as soon as I got off the phone mom said, "Well, what are you going to make for dinner?" It was 1:50; way too early to be thinking about what we were having for dinner.

I went and checked on the kids; Mally was doing fine, getting ready "for a little nappie" (as she calls it) and Daniel was nowhere to be seen. I went outside and found him longingly swirling his hand around in the pool; he jumped up and said, "I wasn't swimming....at least I don't think that's called swimming." It wasn't, but he also wasn't supposed to be out there so he got a little correction and a new shirt (as the one he was wearing was now wet on the sleeve where he'd been checking out the water). About the time I got back in Jay had decided to vacuum his ceiling fan; I don't know what possessed him. It was a very....noisy process.

Emily wasn't going to be eating supper so she decided to bring along some lemonade instead. Mally saw this process being conducted and decided that she wanted lemonade, too. I told her that Em was having lemonade because she had opted out of supper, and that she probably wouldn't be interested in the exchange. To the contrary, she piped up immediately, "Okay, I don't have to eat dinner. I want some lemonade!" By executive order there was an override to her decision.

The friend at Sea World called back and we discussed things briefly, then I helped mom come up with a map to Lancaster. Mally came in whimpering. "I don't want to be hungry," she told me. As flattering as it was to think that she would imagine that I would have the answer to that dillema, I told her that great minds since the dawn of time have been trying to suppress hunger and that (with the rare exception of the kooks who believe in breathairianism) humanity in general hadn't found a solution to the problem of hunger yet and that she would just have to stick to having supper instead of lemonade.

Daniel was in the restroom by this time (before his nap), and when I hadn't seen him for awhile I went in there to check on his status. I immediately knew that something was wrong; to make a long story short, apparently he had never been educated as to the proper technique and common usages of razors, and decided to experiment. I ended up calling Jay in to help me clean up the bloody mess that resulted. While I was getting aloe vera for Daniel and convincing him that it was not poisonous or deadly, Mally decided that, since she'd already had a morning nap, she wanted to go with mom this evening. That meant making another serving of supper to send with the girls, and getting Mally ready to go.

Daniel emerged with bandages and I thanked Jay profusely for handling the problem for me.

A little while later I went to go discuss dinner plans with mom, and after we had been talking a little while a family member (who shall remain anonymous, and no, it wasn't me) accidentally knocked mom's iron onto the ground; after mom had been assured that the carpet and the iron were fine, things returned to normal. I went into the garage to check on available food in the outside freezer. What I didn't realize is that Jay was in the garage, and we ended up scaring eachother while we were in there. He then confessed that he'd been trying to reduce the size of a nerf ball (?????) and had been grinding it down on a grinder or something....the grinder had sucked the whole nerf ball in. I don't know what came over him, because Jay is usually so....practical. Anyway, he was now in the garage trying to figure out how to get the grinder to disgorge the ball.

I was trying to decide what to make for dinner and every time I would start to think that I had a workable menu, I'd find out that I didn't have at least one ingredient that was absolutely necessary to the success of the meal. Finally I asked Jay if he would barbecue chicken for me and we'd have BBQ chicken sandwiches, cheese potatoes and baked beans. He agreed and so I started to thaw some chicken in the microwave. I helped Daniel finish cleaning his room, got Mally, mom, Em and Whitney ready to go, saw them out the door, called grandma again to confirm that I still had no idea what time Jay needed to go and to just show up at 4:45 for supper so we could make sure to have eaten by the time he had to go, and started making the potatoes.

I tried calling another friend of mine again to explain that the Sea World friend had been willing to do the four-way get together, and as I was talking to her Emily came in singing her own personally altered version of "You Raise Me Up" which included unique lyrics exactly opposite of the original ones ("You set me down so I can fall down mountains..."). I checked on the chicken defrosting in the microwave, and it seemed to be going well, then got mom finally fully out the door, discovered that Daniel was actually asleep, (a small miracle in and of itself) and took the chicken out of the microwave.

Jay found me several minutes later mumbling under my breath as I was packaging up the chicken to refreeze.
"What happened?" he asked.
"We can't have this chicken for sandwiches; I didn't know that these are chicken pieces with ribs!"
"Um, Nic, I'm not sure if you've done much studying on chicken anatomy....but chickens don't have ribs."
"I just read it on the package; it said, 'Chicken breasts with ribs'."
"Well, actually, all fowl are unique in that they don't have ribs; they instead have a sternal plate."
I shoved the chicken back in the freezer. "Maybe 'Chicken with Sternal Plates' didn't sound quite as appetizing," I guessed. After making a mental note to never again think that 1:30 was too early to begin looking into supper plans, I headed for the garage again to plan an alternate menu...

Wonderful Weekends

2007-08-06T09:36:00.001-07:00

What a weekend!!!!!!
Thursday my grandma came over for supper, and about the time she arrived a neighbor of ours also arrived; he happens to be a very, um, loud neighbor and I felt a little bad for her. My mom had sent over some food for our neighbor and he was coming over to compliment her and ask for "more, because that was SO good!" My dad gets off every other Friday so we were going to start our weekend on Friday, and therefore we spent the night at my grandma's house, which is something we do every-once-in-awhile. We bring old western movies (or anything we happen to be watching at the time, but usually ancient westerns) and stay up to late hours of the night and do random things like all sit around and read back issues of Readers' Digest. It's great fun.

We had to be back early on Friday morning because Mally and Daniel had to finish up swimming lessons that morning. The rest of the day was busy and interesting; I found out some new things about dispatcher school and when it begins, recorded part of a book on tape for dad, and that night we went to some friends, the Lewis', house for supper. Mally accidentally broke a glass of theirs but it ended up being fine; they understood and the only damage was the broken cup and Kool-Aid all over us. They started telling us about some new organic brand of meat being sold at SuperTarget and so we started talking about organic foods in general....and then somehow got onto the subject of tofu.....which none of us even remotely like. Jay and I were telling a story of our initial exposure to tofu; we had this friend named Sabrina, well, actually, she was a friend of my parents' and she had this infant son who she wanted the best of everything for. Unfortunately, that meant Jay and I were the guinea pigs for all of this stuff. One time she bought tons of varieties of milk that I didn't even know existed; regular, goat, powdered enriched, and probably camel for all I know. It was really disgusting (I don't like just drinking milk anyway so it was all the worse), but then she heated it up, not enough to be hot, but just....lukewarm. More room-temperature. Eckh!!!! She blindfolded Jay and I and had us drink these varieties of milk and then asked us to choose our favorites; Jay and I unanimously suggested one kind of milk which turned out to be regular store-bought cow's milk. She was curious and didn't believe that it actually tasted better but Jay and I did NOT offer to do a retest. Anyhow, this same friend decided to come over and impress us with her newest product: tofu. She didn't suspect that we would want to just eat it plain, so she said, "Guess what! I'm going to make you some Tofu Surprise!!!" It sounded extremely tempting....not. We watched as she threw in tons of mysterious ingredients, mostly consisting of milk (probably not normal; I think by this time she still strongly suspected that Jay and I had rigged the taste test), tofu, vanilla extract, tofu, tofu, tofu and milk. She poured these huge tumblers full of it and plopped a straw on top and grinned at us and said, "Go ahead!!! Are you surprised?" We were surprised, quite unpleasantly, and Jay suddenly came up with the brilliant idea of enjoying our Tofu outside. I think my mom went along with the proposition because she suspected what was ahead. While she engaged this lady in conversation, Jay and I went out to the sandbox and on the count of three took a big sip.......YUCK!!! It was....I don't even know how to describe the consistency. The word awful doesn't do it justice. Anyway, Jay spit his out immediately. We didn't want to waste it all and somehow in our minds it would be more sacrificial to sip it up and then spit it out, so we proceeded to do that with the entire glass. (Jay says no weeds have grown in the immediate vicinity since.)
Our second (and latest, thankfully) exposure to tofu was perhaps just as traumatic; my mom did bookkeeping for a lady who was older and who had four very strange children who lived in the four corners of the earth and sometimes dropped in for unknown reasons (well, actually, usually it was to get money from her). Anyway, on one occasion her son, Tom, came. Well, Tom wasn't just your typical Tom; he was into some sort of religion that transcends the bounds of my understanding and I think had a similar effect on him. Another reason why he wasn't your typical Tom is because he didn't go by the name Tom, which was apparently to mild for him. He went by Mega. Even his checkbook had, "Thomas (Mega)" on it. He believed that mowing the grass was an assault against the grass gods and other strange things that I usually tuned out when I heard him discussing them in-depth with my dad. In any event, Tom (aka Mega), a vegan of the highest order (I don't want to think how many plant gods he offended in his eating habits) decided to wow us all in the kitchen with his impressive culinary skills, making "chicken" which really wasn't chicken at all; it was tofu that he claimed tasted exactly like chicken (not that he would know what chicken tasted like). He cut up these huge....cubes....of tofu. Not just 1-inch-square cubes, but closer to the size of a chicken leg or something. He then proceeded to fry these pieces....in oil....and salt them lightly. The next step was eating them. Eugh. The texture was alarming. We cut up one piece and literally passed a fork around trying to mask our gag reflexes. I liked when I said it had been our last exposure to tofu, though, since I just remembered that Jay had one more unfortunate episode; a neighbor of ours who was also into the whole "organic" thing decided that she needed lots of synthetic meats and then decided that she hated them, so her thought process must have been something like, "Oh, I'll give it to those Hearns; they have a big family so their kids must eat anything."
Quite interestingly, it was true, but Jay mostly decided to eat the tofu "chicken" as a dare. He pulled it out of the box and it was completely....molded...into this really cheesy shape of a half-chicken. (About 2 inches thick, and molded with this little tiny bump for a chicken "leg" on top). The box advertised the quality and texture, even saying that the so-called "meat" had grain. He microwaved it until he felt it was sufficiently warmed and then took a bite...one bite....before deciding that there was no way he wanted to finish it. But his ego would have been wounded if he had wimped out, so he dumped TONS of barbecue sauce onto his plate, chopped off little pieces, drowned them in BBQ sauce, and downed them. He said it felt like a dare where he was eating a bowlful of rubber bands. These days, our only experiences with tofu and alternative meat options are usually when my uncle, who from time-to-time claims that based on some malady or another he can't have foods that sometimes include meat, brings these things called "Tofu Pups" as an alternative to hot dogs at the family parties. It's comical. Anyway, that wasn't really a recounting of Friday night, more of what we talked about Friday night, but, hey.

Saturday we stayed busy although I really can't remember much of what we did. Dad was packing for his trip this week, and we did various things that claimed our time until it was about time to leave for some other friends' house for supper. They told us to come "at fourish". I detest the word "ish" when it comes to time; that's one of my pet peeves; I can't stand it when people aren't punctual, and I REALLY can't stand it when I'm not punctual. Therefore, I like very exact times: Be here at five. Go there at 3:30. Expect a call at 2. But, "Be here at 4ish" is not up my alley. I always ask myself---what time is "fourish"? 3:50? 4:10? We got there at 4:05, in case you're wondering. We had a really fun supper; spaghetti and grated Parmesan that we couldn't figure out how to grate properly and meatballs that were still a little frozen and other really comical and enjoyable things. I like meals where you can all laugh and have fun. We had a GREAT conversation about everything from DHP Films to pinball machines and had a great time. Plus, we had cheesecake for dessert so that made the evening really good. :)

On Sunday morning our long-departed laptop started working for a few seconds, and I just about had a conniption; there was a computer file I'd started on there that I really wanted back and so I went scrambling for a flash drive and other transfer mediums, and about that time the computer crashed again. Whoops. We left to go feed my grandparents' chickens (they're out of town; my grandparents, that, is, not the chickens.) On the way I saw this blue monstrosity of a car that was probably roaming California back when horses and buggies were common; I started this joke by telling my family that it was my dream car since I've been looking around at cars recently. Jay was like, "If that's your dream car, I think you're having a nightmare." It was funny. We went to church and then had a potluck afterwards; I'm not used to these church potlucks where there are so many options its ridiculous. I just took what my plate could hold and figured that the rest of the food could wait until the next potluck. Once we went home, our grandparents called and told us that they were back in town and wanted to bring over strawberries to have together, and that they'd be there after they called in about an hour. No big deal. Mom was napping and so were the little kids, I was writing and Jay was reading and dad was doing dishes a little while later when they suddenly just....pulled up....we were like, whoa, quick, wake everybody up! It was funny.

I got a call from the pastor's wife near suppertime asking if I could play piano for church that night as there had been some mild fiasco and she had to stay home with one of her boys completing an assignment for school (which started this morning for him). I said yes although I was a very nervous; I hate playing in front of people period. But I did it, thankfully, and with the exception of one song that had strange minor chords that I just could NOT get right, it went fine.

This morning we got up about 20 minutes early at four-something to get dad ready to go to his Accela conference through work; it will last through Thursday afternoon/evening I guess. We had a nice walk; it was a little chilly, which loved; I never like walking during the summer when you're hot by the time you get back. After dad left there was some consternation as all of the kids somehow decided that with dad gone it was National Cry About Everything day; since mom and Jay were gone getting Jay registered for this semester at college, I was trying to calm them down; at the moment I hear relative silence around me which could either be a very good sign or a very bad sign. :)

It was a great weekend!!!!

"Raising" the Ante

2007-07-31T14:11:00.001-07:00

If you're ever in a position of authority and the employees are demanding raises, remember not to do what Rolandas Milinavicius did last week.

When Inga Contreras, 25, and Martynas Simokaitis, 28, (yes, apparently his prerequisite for hire in the first place was that an unpronounceable last name had to come into play) were insistent that Rolandas raise their pay, he shot and killed them.

"It doesn't make any sense," Rolandas' cousin, Jaunius Simokaitis, told the Associated Press; "If he was having money problems, these two would have been the ones to help him get out of debt. They would have helped him make that money."

Although it was two less employees to pay, I am quite sure Rolandas hadn't figured his lengthy prison sentence into the equation. If nothing else, he can be very sure that Conteraras and Simokaitis won't be demanding raises anymore.

To his credit, Rolandas turned himself in. But at this point, he is probably wishing he had given them the raise.

House Sitting (and related catastrophes)

2007-07-25T10:49:00.001-07:00

Well, it's my first day houses-sitting for some friends of ours, and so far it's been very interesting. This morning I decided that it would probably be a good idea to get started before it got too hot, so I went in the garage to get my bike. It's been a very long time since I've been on a bike and I just stood there staring at the row of bikes trying to remember which one was mine (yes, it was that bad.) I did the only reasonable thing to do after that: I hollered, "JAY!" and my (very helpful) brother came over to rescue his damsel in distress. He showed me the correct bike, got it out for me, and then started to add air to my tires.

Disaster struck when the tire air pump blew up (literally). I tried to tell him that the tire felt fine but he said, "Nic, you need 60 psi to drive on the road. You're at..." he checked the gauge, "Zero." Plan B. We got an air compressor going and finally filled it and I was off. I apparently didn't have the shifting thing down properly and several times I was going past someone's house when my gears would make some unknown "thunk". Oh, well. I finally go there in one piece (rather miraculous) and came inside, very thirsty. They have a very expensive new refrigerator so I found a cup and got myself some-----nevermind. I could not for the life of me figure out how to get the ice machine and water dispenser to work, so I had to drink lukewarm water from the sink.

I then got to work finding the cat food, actually feeding the cats, and watering the lawn. I accidentally turned the water on too high and before I could catch it I also watered the house. Whoops. Finally I came inside to hunt around for a piece of paper to write my adventures down on, and--(prepare yourself, this will be dreadful)--I searched in their drawers for a pen. I found tons of pencils, silverware, address cards, and a driving ticket but no pens so I reverted to using a pencil.

Before I got a single word on the page it was time to change the lawn water. I went out to grab the hose and attached sprinkler but somehow grabbed it incorrectly and the whole thing came apart. I was then soaking wet. I finally fixed it and came back inside and started writing; about this time a guy in a golf cart who looked a little creepy went riding past the back fence (their house is on a golf course) so I made my presence known so that he would know the house wasn't unoccupied.

By then I was thirsty again so I went to get another drink and saw that there were some ants in their kitchen. Not good. With my pen-searching skills, I decided to venture into the garage to find some ant spray. I found a lot of things; Lysol, "Kaboom Toilet Bowl Blaster", propane, spray paint and all-purpose plant food, but no bug spray. I considered my options and decided that highly-concentrated doses of Lysol would probably be my best bet, so I made a point of spraying the ants-- well--at point-blank range and it didn't appear to have any effect but, who knows, maybe Lysol kicks in after awhile. Needless to say that by this point the kitchen smelled extremely "sanitary".

I had this odd premonition of some sorts that I should check the plants' water. When I went out there, they were damp, but that quickly proved to be from the overspray back when I pulled the "watering the house" stunt. I'll spare you the long version but for the next 10 minutes I kept trying to figure out how to turn the plants' water on.

Now I have the ater going, the trashcans in, the cats fed, the ants threatened and the situation under control. I'd better head back home before some further catastrophe takes place. Hopefully I won't do anything silly like crash my bike on the way home.......

:)
Nicole

17 Random Observations

2007-07-23T17:24:00.001-07:00

Random information:

With my sunburn, I am approximately the animal kingdom equivalent of a boiled lobster.

Mally has been exulting that in three years she'll be out of a car seat.

It is really nice to hear from a stranger in Iraq who you've sent a letter to.

Jay: "That girl could give a white guy an afro just by talking to him...if he's lucky."

Dad's "doing-dishes-on-Sundays" policy is such a great one.

It started sprinkling today and the little kids thought the concept of rain was so foreign that they were running around the backyard hollering in exultation. We broke the news gently that rain is not a new concept and that it has been around for a few thousand years. The "rain" lasted barely 10 minutes.

Instant oatmeal is bad for one's health, or taste buds at the very least.

One of my goals for the next while is to learn how to successfully spell hors de oeuvres without having to actually google it every time I want to remind myself how to spell it!

Leftover pasta salad makes great spaghetti when mixed with spaghetti sauce and meatballs. With garlic bread....mm. It will be just right for my parents' "date night" tonight.

Little brothers are great at picking flowers outside and very thoughtful to put them into little vases and display them, even if they are very obviously weeds.

Jay looks really different....although quite nice...in coveralls after working in the garage all afternoon and listening to Michael Savage for entertainment.

Mally has made the shocking discovery that she has four cousins, not two.

It is very pleasant to receive a long-awaited book in the mail that has been on order for what seems like forever.

Deleting 800 emails from your inbox is quite an accomplishment; you should try it sometime. I'm now left with just over 200 from all folders combined, and a lot more available space on my gmail account, which had filled up to 21% of my free space!

The hours between 2 and 4 drag on. The hour of 5-6 flies by. I guess it's that time when the house has to be clean, dinner has to be on the table and everyone is waiting for dad to come home.

"Sunrise, Sunset" doesn't sound good sung in a lively "spiritual" rendition, as I learned while editing tapes and CD's from a friend. And Nat King Cole does a better job of singing, "When I Fall in Love" than anyone else that I've heard to date, especially the guy on the particular CD I was previewing. (Needless to say, the CD I was reviewing didn't end up making its way to the "keepers" pile; I guess I'm spoiled after listening to Lisa's collection of anniversary music back at ALERT. :D....now watch, I'll probably be going around the house for the rest of the night singing, "Unforgettable....")

Overcast, breezy days are wonderful.

Jay

2007-07-20T14:35:00.001-07:00

Well, folks, the Fire Muster is tomorrow. We'll be headed out to Brewster Park in a few hours and from there we'll be gearing up for the competitions, which begin tomorrow. Pray for Jay as he competes; we'd like him to be safe, and, of course, to do well in the competitions. The guys have practiced a lot and I'm hoping their performance exceeds their expectations.
Thanks for praying!
-Nicole

Seven Hours in the Life of Nicole Hearn

2007-07-19T14:19:00.001-07:00

Seven Hours in the Life of Nicole Hearn

Between 5 and 6: I got out of bed, struggled to make said bed (hey, that rhymed) while fighting drowsiness, went to the living room with my family to exercise, took a shower, and got ready to read the Bible with my family. Played part of a "chess" game with Daniel (using chess pieces but Daniel-style rules.) Laughed at Jay's quote, "I like the self-punishment feature that comes with foolishness."
Between 6 and 7: I listened to Jay read Mark 5, I read Mark 6, and Em and Dad read some more after I finished. I contemplated the times in the Bible when Jesus would "cast out evil spirits" in people, and wondered if that is a permanent thing. Some healings that Jesus did were very obvious: a cripple can walk. A blind man can see. Others, such as the times when he threw demons out of people, have the potential to be a little more subjective. Isn't every person responsible to keep their lives pure in such a way that demons cannot inhabit them? When Jesus cast out a demon, did he also regenerate the part of that person that had been prey to the demon?
Between 7 and 8: Helped get breakfast ready, laughed with dad and Jay, got dad off to work, went inside, and found out that Jay's internet on his computer was on the fritz. Decided to undertake the project of fixing it. While preparing to do so, reviewed some script notes with Jay and Em. Got into a discussion with mom.
Between 8 and 9: Continued discussion with mom. Tried to fix computers. Laughed at Jay's attempts to infiltrate my discussion with mom. Tried to fix the computer some more. Found no decipherable reason why the computer was doing what it was doing. Repeatedly hollered at Jay, who was in the next room, asking him if he knew how to fix the computer. Repeatedly heard the answer that if he knew how to fix it he would have done so already. Answered an email or two, got a few lines of a writing project done. Finished conversation with mom.
Between 9 and 10: Tried the XP "Internet Connection Troubleshooter"'s two-step connection-healing process a dozen times, with no results. Decided to pull out all of the computer wires and try to track the problem. Learned halfway through that I had no idea what I was doing. Kicked Jay off the working computer and drafted him to help me. Went out into the kitchen to check on the kids....uh-oh. Play-Doh. Everywhere. They were playing with Play-Doh on a grand scale. They had the presses, the cookie sheets for showcasing their masterpieces, and the blended colors...I told them to start cleaning it up because we were going to do other things. And because at about that time mom came out into the living room informing me that the Millers were probably about to show up. It went without saying that the current state of the expansive Play-Doh undertaking was unacceptable. Little kids decided not to do what they'd been instructed to. Little kids got in trouble. Jiggled wires and cords. Finally got internet working by strange means. Printed out two quotes to copy into my journal.
Between 10 and 11: Found out that Jay was leaving for an Explorer turnout pickup at a quarter of noon. Advised Em on how to make a trifle for tonight's dinner gathering at our house. Started to help kids clean up Play-Doh. Realized that cleaning up Play-Doh is a huge project. Made mental note to never allow my kids to play with Play-Doh unless under extremely special circumstances (i.e. at "grandma and grandpa Hearn's" house :D). Went on anysoldier.com and happened to see the profile of a guy who was looking for King James bibles for his group. Thought of the Bible that we found in Sac that nobody claimed, decided to send it, addressed the envelope, and got ready to seal it. Decided that I should put a picture of our family in the note so he could see the family he was getting it from. Tried to get Jay off the computer so I could print a picture. Was unsuccessful. Went to his room instead and tried to print off a picture. It printed....but the ink was running out so it had a bizarre pink hue to the whole thing. Decided that it didn't matter and he could just think that we were weirdos who liked seeing our family through hot-pink overtones. Wrapped package with excessive amounts of tape.
Between 11 and 12: Finished cleaning up the last Play-Doh. Washed a sinkful of dishes that Jay (little imp) left without doing. Played another round of "chess" with Daniel, this time a complete game. Made a sandwich for Danny per specs he gave me very clearly: "Peanut butter and honey. Cut up. In a bowl. With milk poured over the top." Not exactly my style, but I made it for him. Entertained Whitney, who was frustrated at her lack of ability to crawl (she just doesn't know that's what she's frustrated at, but she is. :D) Explained to Daniel the ethical reasons why not to hit one's sister (even if in jest). Tried on a shirt for the Explorer events this weekend (showing that I'm a proud supporter of Jay...and his post). Hummed, "Broken Road". Made sure the house was clean just as dad was getting home for lunch. Geared up to prepare for our party tonight......

And that is a random accounting of seven hours in the life of Nicole Hearn.

Planning

2007-07-18T18:18:00.001-07:00

Plan for the future; you'll be living in it for the rest of your life.

Writing Screenplays....

2007-07-18T16:43:00.001-07:00

Jay, Em and I are working on a movie short. For a long time we've wanted to produce something that actually has a little plot and substance, and goes outside the confines of the Hearn backyard "Dani-ellie-ellie" productions. With our combined strengths, we've come up with a plot that we really like, and a location to shoot it, plus several folks that we hope to include in our cast.
The next obvious step was to come up with a screenplay.
I was elected.
Ever since, I've been writing and writing. Just now I printed off my final draft, and had a real-time read-through with Jay.
He liked it.
Score!

No New News

2007-07-17T16:51:00.001-07:00

(Caution: discretion advised; may not be suitable for younger readers.)

The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun. --Ecc. 1:9

Every morning CNN.com sends me a list of their "Top 10" stories for the day. The stories are typical of our generation's news media; today's was no exception. The six Bulgarian nurses who are accused of intentionally spreading an AIDS virus to 436 children have been commuted to life sentences rather than the death penalty. Today the father of a girl who was raped, tortured and buried alive will face his daughter's murderer in court. A 48-year-old woman is on trial for hiring her 26-year-old boyfriend to kill her 65-year-old husband. They have found steroids and other such items in the home of a man who killed his wife and young handicapped son, laid Bibles next to their dead bodies and hanged himself on a weight machine after sending text messages to several friends explaining where they would find the food to feed the family dogs after his departure. A manhunt in Wyoming continues after a former soldier described by some as "a good Christian" fatally shot his estranged wife while she was performing a song onstage in a restaurant. And analysts are saying that they believe Al-Queda is planning a new attack on the States using resources gathered during the war in Iraq. Those are eight of the top-10 stories from today's email update.

I usually vary between two radically different responses when I read such news. The first reaction that I have is to gloss over it, and to read the stories as if they are old news. After all, I am so desensitized to hearing about brutal murders and heinous crimes that I am not shocked to read about soldiers killing their wives or professional wrestlers strangling their children or men raping little girls and burying them alive. These things happen every day in our world, and to take the time to personally mourn over each one seems futile, as if I would never be able to process the grief of them all. And so I read the details, try to block out the graphic images of the scenes from my mind, and shoot up a silent prayer, God, forgive them, for they know not what they do.

The other reaction that I have sometimes is to allow the stories to cripple me spiritually. I read the accounts, I internalize them, and I ask, God, how could you let a little girl be tortured and asphyxiated by her own neighbor? God, will there be no vengeance for a man who kills his own wife, or his handicapped son? God, do you see what is happening? Do you care? It is so easy to distrust a God who allows evil to happen, I think to myself, and I beg Him to answer me--- why?

Neither response is correct, God has been showing me, so I am seeking to balance both responses. As I do, God is bringing His word to my mind, which helps me to cope in a world where black is white and white is black. First, He reminds me that only what will eventually bring glory to Him does He allow.

Psalm 76:10 "Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee: the remainder of wrath shalt thou restrain."

As hard as it is to believe, the things we see are not as bad as they could be. God actually allows evil based on eventual glory to His name, and whatever does not fit that criteria, He does not allow. We think, in our finite understandings, that nothing could possibly be worse than the things we see and read about in our newspapers every morning. But He asks us to trust Him that the evil we see is only that evil which will eventually bring His name glory. How could evil bring You glory, Lord? It is not our prerogative to know in most cases, yet. He asks us to trust Him that the wrath of man praises Him, and that the remainder of wrath, He restrains. Imagine the amount of evil that He restrains!

Next, He assures me that I am not facing a situation so dark that it can find no parallel in human history. My generation does not experience evil that has been amped up beyond any sins of times past. When I tend to think, God, this evil is too great for You not to intervene, I remember that He has been dealing with unspeakable evil since the dawn of time. Biblical references abound, and when I read them they sound alarmingly similar to what we deal with today; a man who allowed his wife to be raped by a mob of sodomite men and then cut her body into pieces after they had killed her. Barbarians who smashed innocent children to pieces and kept harems full of women who were kept alive only for the periodic pleasure they would bring to a ruler. Bestiality and rage-driven murders and destructive behavior. Those are just a sampling of Biblical examples, not to mention the historical atrocities in the centuries since then, of humans cheering as other humans were being eaten alive by animals, of those who sacrificed their own flesh and blood to demonic gods, of men and women of God being burned alive or tortured beyond recognition. We do not live in an era that surpasses any before it for wickedness.

So, He has taught me that the wrath He allows is already wrath that will someday bring glory to His Name. He has taught me that as evil as the world around me may seem, He has seen its kind repeated again and again in the history of mankind, and nothing that I read about in my email from CNN will surprise Him or catch Him off guard. And finally, He has taught me to rest in the fact that He is already living in tomorrow, and He already sees the outcome of the evil I see today. My dad helped me to realize this point as I was telling him about the 436 AIDS-infected children; he responded only with, "Nicole, just think. Someday we'll go to heaven."

It was that simple. Yes, there is evil around us. Yes, we ought to grieve at a dying world without Christ. Yes, we ought to be compassionate to others who are facing unspeakable horrors. We ought to be shocked and repulsed by the stories we hear, for they are the products of a fallen world. But we ought also to hope, and to remember that someday the deeds of man will be recompensed before a righteous God. He will avenge innocent blood, and He will pardon sanctified saints, and I can rejoice that, in that day, I will "know, as also I am known".

Meanwhile, as we wait for the glorious appearing of Christ, we read the words of Solomon and we know that he spoke well when he said that there is nothing new under the sun.

Even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly.

The Economy According to James

2007-07-17T08:11:00.001-07:00

"Go to now, ye that say, To day or to morrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy and sell, and get gain: Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that." James 4:13-15

Yesterday my dad was summoned to the public counter at his work (for the City) where a man was waiting to speak to him. Several years ago, when construction in California looked like it couldn't get any better, he had decided to drastically expand his construction-related business and had started to build a new facility to accommodate that. Due to problems, mostly on the part of his architect, the building is still not off the ground and he has 250,000 dollars in cash into the project already. His permit expires on August 28 and he was asking my dad for advice.

You see, he was just diagnosed with cancer, and at best the doctors are giving him a 20% chance of survival. Twenty percent. He was asking my dad--should he go through with the project? Dad said that, as a City employee, he couldn't answer that question, but as a friend he would try. He then asked the man if he really wanted to risk so much with the (large) possibility that his widow would be left with a significant debt in an economy that is quickly spiraling downward for the construction element. He pointed to the very building he was standing in while they spoke as an example: less than two years ago our city was doing so well that they decided to build a large new city hall, on the assumption that the funds to pay for it would come from a minimum of 1,000 building permits pulled per year for the next twenty years. It sounded like a modest and achievable number at the time, but the economy has levelled off, and within the last two months combined the City has only taken in 20 building permits, and we're less than one full year into our promised twenty years....

The man went away with questions, forced by an illness that he could have never anticipated. The divinely-inspired James was right; our lives are a vapor. I am currently struggling in my mind to balance out proper planning and foresight so that it is neither unpreparedness nor presumption but a mix of both. What is that balance? And in what ways would I wish I had done things differently if I were to be given a twenty percent chance of living tomorrow?

"LORD, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is: that I may know how frail I am." Ps. 39:4

Nikki

2007-07-16T14:19:00.001-07:00

Today I went to the The Dreaded Dentist.
I've learned to dread going to the dentist for one Very Valid Reason: they call me Nikki. Now, Nikki is an okay nickname to call me, as long as,

a.) you're my dad
or
b.) you don't mind getting a black eye. :)

but neither of those clauses usually apply to the dentist office where I frequent.
To make it worse, they don't just call me "Nikki" in passing or write it on my patient report. They USE it. As in, call me it constantly. In the waiting lobby, "HI, NIKKI! COME RIGHT ON IN!" In the hallway. "Okay, Nikki; head right on down here to room four." In the chair. "Nikki, go ahead an hop up into this chair right here." During x-rays. "Okay, Nikki; can you bite down for me now?" In conversation. "So, Nikki, how was it in Texas?"
Some people have phobias of what their dentists will do to their mouths.
Not me. I fear for what mine will do to my fragile emotional balance.

Today they realized that I hadn't been in for a long time, so they asked me to fill out a new Patient Form. In the spot at the top for, "Nicknames" I put in all-caps, "NIC". Yes, Nic. Not Nikki. I handed the paper back and she glanced over it. I'd begun to hope that maybe she noticed her error by my glaring correction....

"Thanks, Nikki; that's all I need for now."
Groan.

Spring Cleaning

2007-07-16T09:33:00.000-07:00

Today we're doing spring cleaning.
Six months late.

Short-Order Pianist

2007-07-15T13:31:00.001-07:00

For those of you who were praying......

Last night I found out that they didn't have a pianist for church tomorrow and that I had been elected to play. Lovely! (Just kidding.) We decided on a few songs, but I doubted that I'd be comfortable even if they were all songs I knew in my sleep, because I tend to get really nervous when I'm playing in front of crowds ( i.e. three or more people :D). So this morning I showed up and everyone was kind of discussing the music and what would be happening with each song, and what was being played when. The song leader told me to play the song through one time and then he would tell everyone the verse so they could sing along. I started the intro and he told people the number, so they were all turning there while I was just getting ready to start, which obviously wouldn't have gone over very well so I replayed the intro and we all started together. I pretty soon found out that I was glad I was comfortable with the music because he was rather difficult to follow. I was trying to watch his hands as he was setting the tempo, but it turns out that what he was singing and what he was motioning were not the same! :D Thankfully everything seemed to go well except for at the end when he asked everyone to thank me, and they applauded while I walked to my seat and sat down.....and then he said, "Oh, wait! Nicole! We have one more song." So I had to go all the way back up there again..... *grin*......and play that next song. I was so busy trying to follow everyone and make sure that we were playing the right song when that I really didn't have time to be nervous. :)
Thanks for praying!

'I was wrong', reporter says

2007-07-13T14:47:00.001-07:00

(Headquarters, AP) The Associated Press reporter who interviewed an up-and-coming video editor about her skills on Wednesday has officially retracted.
"I was wrong," the reporter, whose name is being withheld for confidentiality purposes, said in a confession on her personal blog, "Nicole Hearn said absolutely nothing about the ease of video editing. She, in fact, said quite the opposite, namely, that she didn't understand how everyone did it. 'I can't stand sitting at a desk for two days on end just watching the same thing over and over and trying to coordinate music and footage with pictures and ideas; it is almost intolerably dull for me'." The confession on the blog led to an anonymous police report and the arrest of the reporter earlier today; she was booked on the suspicion of falsifying information and libel.
"Believe me, I did not maliciously report this way," she told a fellow reporter early this afternoon, "I thought it was in the best interests of Nicole and accurately conveyed the emotions that she would have wanted to feel in the situation, not necessarily the ones that she did feel."
Hearn agrees with the assessment, and is urging county prosecutors not to press charges. "I felt a connection with [the reporter] immediately and felt that she did what she thought was best under the circumstances. She was privy to what only few people were: my skills (or lack thereof) had been disturbing me greatly over the previous hours and I knew that despite the positive feedback I was receiving, there were critics out there who weren't thrilled with the work in its entirety and really believed that it needed more editing before it was finished. The night of the report I was headed back to the computer to try to rework things and, yes, I'll say it honestly: I was grumpy. I know that [the reporter] did what she felt was in my best interests, and I am thankful to her for that."
Does the news damage credibility on Nicole's part? "I think that a reporter has to express what feelings came across, not necessarily what was said," the reporter's lawyer was heard saying earlier today, "And I think that [the reporter] definitely met that qualification. Especially in light of the fact that the outstanding critics are now very pleased with the results of Hearn's work."
The Chief of Police says that he hasn't heard enough to assess the situation and the county prosecutors could not be reached for comment. "All is well that ends well," Hearn said in a report this afternoon, "I am confident that this situation will blow over, like it did for me last week." The Associated Press stands behind their reporter and is endorsing the Hearn plea to drop charges, which they feel will be appropriate in this situation. "There are no hard feelings, and the situation is clearly already handled," AP editor Price August said in a preliminary hearing statement, "Sometimes, we make mistakes."

Sidebar Ads

2007-07-12T09:13:00.001-07:00

I think that gmail is the best thing to happen since, well, Google. I primarily love conversation stacking, which is such a time saver and so convenient. But gmail isn't just all efficiency; it also is very amusing at times. Such as every time I click on an email to see an email, accompanied by gmail "sidebar ads". These ads are supposedly based on key words in the emails I use, and are usually highly entertaining. Such as today, when I exchanged a few, "I love you! Have a great day!" emails with Elizabeth McCauley and had the following advertisements presented to me:

"Take this 15 question survey to see what kind of parent you are." ("Hmm, let me see....what kind of parent am I? A mom, or a dad?" I could tell you that with a 2-question survey; "Are you a parent?" "Are you a male or a female?")

"Natural Bridge Caverns--Texas' biggest underground family attraction!" (I'm sure there are lots of underground family attractions in Texas, so that must be quite a distinction to be the biggest! :D)

"Are you a celebrity? --It's scary accurate to see what celebrity you are." (Scary accurate?)

"Storm Tornado Shelters --strongest in the industry. Financing." (Did our set of emails sound that desperate that it appeared that one of us was preparing to weather a tornado and might not come out alive on the other end? At least there's financing to help with this problem.)

"Luxury hotels, elegant resorts, and spacious conference centers." (I guess they're saying....if I really love Elizabeth I should probably give her a surprise trip to an "elegant resort" to prove it.)

Ah, you've gotta love gmail.

Messy Rooms and Empty Drawers

2007-07-10T14:54:00.000-07:00

This morning I decided to undertake quite an ambitious project----namely, cleaning out my fourth dresser drawer. Now, this dresser drawer is unlike any other dresser drawer that I have. The other drawers are kept for keeping--surprise, surprise---clothing in. Well, maybe that wasn't such of a surprise. Regardless, that fourth drawer may look like a normal clothes drawer, but, no, siree. It is a catch-all drawer. It keeps every little trinket and item I don't want to deal with until "later", and end up forgetting for months on end. I have new motivation to clean it out, since I came back from Texas with more clothes than I left with, and now all of my items won't fit into the current drawers that I have. The Fourth Drawer needs to be commandeered for the cause, and in order for that to happen, it has to be clean.
If this were a movie, right now the scary, tense string orchestra would enter. Cleaning out this drawer has been like venturing unarmed into a tribe of headhunters-----audacious, to say the very least. If not downright terrifying!
I'm finding all sorts of things that have been buried in the depths of the drawer since my pre-teens. I've found multiple non-working watches, letters written to people and never sent out, letters from people to me when I really don't even remember the people, data CD's from years ago storing writing projects I haven't touched in ages, and, of course, the most flagrant of all the unnecessary collections in that drawer-------pens and pencils.
I started to try to hold them in my hand, but figured out quickly that such an attempt was futile. So I started putting them all onto my window sill. How many pens and pencils is it possible to fit into one little dresser drawer? After today, I know that the answer is at least 124, since there were that many in my drawer.
I've gathered an entire trash bag full to capacity of items to be tossed, and the drawer is almost completely clean.

The new problem that has presented itself is that, while I have an empty drawer, I have a very messy room with relics of the past sprawled out all over it and ink pens scattered around the room; I'm sure that if I strung the items end-to-end I'd have enough for a roundtrip to Mars.

If I can get motivated enough to deal with the sheer volume of the drawer's contents, I should have a place for everything and everything in its place by nightfall. Until then, I have an empty drawer, and a messy room and enough pens and pencils to give one to every illiterate child in China.

I know that taking on this project is huge. But, like I said, I'm feeling ambitious.