It can be terribly cold and lonely here in the Midest, and there were only the five members of my immediate family (six, if you count the previous entry's 'victim of
a tube fight'), and sometimes I have a problem appreciating the good things about being home. But there is always at least one Good Thing, and that is this: family. I know it and I'll
never forget it, but I realized it yet again today, while my mom and I shared burners on the stove. She was stirring gravy for the mashed potatoes and I was stirring
chocolate for french silk pie, and there we were: stirring, and stirring, and stirring. There was Christmas music in the background, my dad was out doing chores and the boys
were playing video games in the living room. Snow was falling outside. My feet were freezing because we had the front door open to let cold air in, since the stove was functioning
as a second furnace. And it occured to me: yes, this is nice. And so it is.
December 22, 2004
The aftermath of gift wrapping: victim of a tube fight
December 21, 2004
What I spent my afternoon doing
On the insides: either white or semi sweet chocolate. On the outsides: either milk, dark, white or mint chocolate. Decorated with either: nuts, coconut or powdered sugar.
Click for a larger image. If you can stand being that close to so much chocolate.
December 8, 2004
And the word of the day is: bomb diggety
Words of advice: do not call the house of five graduate students the night before they all have the same final. They will not answer the phone.
They will, however, find time to do other things. Like update this journal.
December 1, 2004
How I fell in love with a two-year-old
Cheers to Holly for posting the first comment to this journal! For those of you who don't know her, Holly is an amazing girl who cares deeply for the many friends
she has. I think anyone who knows Holly is bound to be a better person for it. :)
I was waitressing last night (it's just a part-time gig) when, out of nowhere, I heard a very strange and foreign
sound: the tick tock of my biological clock. Or maybe it was more a simple, singular chime. Whatever it was, it was the fault of
an absolutely gorgeous two-year-old who, whenever I passed him, would stare up at me with gorgeous, gigantic brown eyes. Most kids who do this will drop their gaze as soon as you pass behind them, beyond their field of vision. But this kid... his head swivelled and we held each other's gazes all the way back to the kitchen, where I finally had a chance to stop, blink, catch my breath and say, "I want one!" to the nearest coworker. But by then the tick-tock-chiming was over and I was able to add, "In like, ten years."
But seriously. This kid was great. I think I liked him so much because he looked like my brothers when they were
that age. And he didn't do this stare-down thing just once. Oh no. Every single time I passed him, he dropped whatever he was
doing to watch me. It was fabulous.
Until I noticed that he did it with some of the other waitresses, too.
Fickle kid.
November 30, 2004
And I've been walking around with a mysterious half-smile
My head has been a radio station for the last 16 hours. I don't know how it started, but every half hour or so I'll find that a different song has snuck its way into my brain and is playing itself over and over. I missed out on a lot of sleep last night due to the Radio Station Phenomenon. Among other things. Some of the songs that I remember:
Tegan and Sara - The Living Room Pearl Jam - Last Kiss Guster - What You Wish For Guster - Demons Pearl Jam - Black Leann Rimes - Nothin 'Bout Love Makes Sense O Brother Soundtrack - I Am Weary (Let Me Rest) Damien Rice - Cannonball
Stop the music!
November 28, 2004
Good advice from one of my mother's emails
"Life's too short for games, Sweet."
She says things like that and I know how right she is. We all know how right she is, but we all still play the games. Because games are Less Scary. Less scary than the real thing, than honesty, which requires knowing who we really are ourselves, and then requires that we subject ourselves to a possible emotional rejection that is far worse than most of the physical pains in this world.
That fear, the fear of getting hurt, amazes me to this day. Just the concept of it is bewildering. I mean, really... what's so bad about getting hurt once in a while? What's so bad about taking a chance on something that could be good, could be Great, compared to a little emotional turmoil? It's silly, stupid even, to not take those chances. We don't get anywhere by not taking chances.
And yet... and yet the thought of actually doing it. The thought of actually admitting, in all truth and honesty, those feelings or lack thereof - of saying hey look, this is how it is - conjures up the image of a cliff, of stepping up to the point of that cliff while the wind howls and presses around, and of jumping, and falling like you might fall in some of those scarier childhood dreams, where you're not sure how you're going to land. Maybe it'll hurt and maybe it won't, but there's no way of telling which it'll be, and there's no way you can go back to the point you were at before you jumped.
And one more thing? I really like how my mother calls me 'Sweet' in her emails. She's never said it to me in person, or on the phone, but some time long ago I became 'Sweet' to her in our emails. And I like it.
But that advice. Whew.
November 25, 2004
So it begins
For a long time now, I've wanted to take my manyfires domain and transform this journal into a more anonymous expression of creativity. What I mean is: I want to stop complaining about my everyday life. I want reserve this space for the writer and photographer that I know I am, that I have been in the past, and that, with the encouragement of this blog/journal, I will continue to be.
This is why I have chosen to delete all my archives and to start anew with a fresh look and a blank canvas. I even have a new email - admin at manyfires dot com. I can't tell you that this new approach will be a good one. I can't tell you that it will be about my life (entries may be more along the lines of fictional at times, but those will probably be presented as such, as I'm not out to fool anyone here.) I can only tell you that I will striving hard to refind the imagination and spark that I've let slip into the background of my life.
For those of you that have already found me, bravo. For those of you who will be coming in the future, and for anyone that may know me - my life, my name, etc. - I ask you to please not mention any of it in the comments you might leave. I don't even want to use my first name anymore. I'll think of a pen name... or I'll entertain suggestions of one.
And with that, we begin this.
Words to live by:
This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before being thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.
-George Bernard Shaw
