Woo hoo, woo hoo, woo hoo!!!
Little Lizzie is 17 years old!!!
Woo hoo, woo hoo, woo hoo!!
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LITTLE LIZZIE!!!
Wow...I can't believe my little sister-who-tumbled-down-the-hill-and-banged-her-head-and-bled-everywhere-and-scared-us-half-to-death is 17 years old! Beeeth. You're growing up! Aaaaw. I remember when I was 17. ::thinks back four years ago:: Woooow. ::giggles::
And my cousin Jessica is 22. Happy Birthday, Jessica!! ;D
Beth, I hope you had a great day! I'll see you on Thursday, and we will go party together on Saturday!
Love ya!
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
The London Murders: Jack the Ripperger
Three days later, they discovered the identity of Jack the Ripperger.
Or, more accurately, Rosie discovered it. This irritated Jace quite immensely.
Not that it surprised him, really- in fact he almost wondered what took her so long. What irritated him was the idea that he had come all the way overseas only to prove his inferiority to a female. Even if she was psychic.
As Davis Nolder drove him to the S4 office, Jace tried to avoid letting it get to him. He did not succeed.
His coolness on the surface belied a volcanic eruption underneath. This was both his strength and his weakness. On the one hand, perception was reality, and getting everyone to buy off on the fact that he was cold, cool, and in control contributed greatly to his success. The other contributions came from willpower, raw talent, and burning emotion. But unless you could read minds, you would never know it.
Rosie knew it. And that was the other hand.
*****
As Jace walked into the S4 offices, he almost ran headfirst into Niles. He wasn’t happy about it. “Hey Jace, how about that Rosie Tracer, eh? Spot on!”
“Yeah, spot on Niles. Get out of my way.”
“You don’t have to be all angry about it! It’s a good thing! We’ve discovered the murderer! Niles glared at him. Jace glared back.
“Ahem.”
Niles moved aside and Jace continued down the hall. He heard Niles muttering behind him. “Too much whiskey last night, I’ll wager. What a grot!”
So what if Niles was right? Jace thought. That was only half the story anyway.
******
Rosie didn’t look up as Jace entered. She sat in a chair facing the wall, as she had done so often in the past.
“I was waiting for you.” was all she said.
Jace moved to the only table in the room, where a coffee pot sat still steaming. He knew it would be good. He poured himself a cup and waited for Rosie to say something else, knowing full well she was waiting for him. It was a game they used to play. However, this time, he wasn’t in the mood to wait for up to 12 hours as it sometimes took. He cleared his throat.
“Well, congratulations. So are you going to tell me how you did it?”
“No.”
Jace sipped his coffee.
Black.
Strong.
He looked out the window and was irritated.
“I’m not going to tell you Jace, because you already know how I did it. You’re irritated because I cracked the code first.” She turned her chair and looked at Jace for the first time. It was true. She didn't need her psychic powers to figure that out.
His answer confirmed her statement.
“I suspected it was an anagram the minute I saw it… I just couldn’t put it together.”
An anagram, Jace thought. A word or phrase which, upon re-arranging the letters, spelled something else- supposedly something with significance.
Jace had once sat down and determined that the letters of his name could spell "Cajun Beetly" or "Jane bet Lucy" - among other things. He didn't know what kind of significance that held. He chuckled silently and remembered two anagrams of Rosie's name - "Secret I Roar" and "A Rector's Ire".
“Pere P.G. Jarreck, H.T.I.” Rosie said, bringing Jace out of his introspection.
Jace was silent. The name sounded vaguely familiar... but he didn't know why.
"Father Pierre Gabriel Jarreck, Honneur le Triese Innocentes." Rosie spoke again.
Jace was silent again. He knew French when he heard it - but that didn't mean he knew French. Rosie continued.
“Father Jarreck is the Catholic Bishop of Liverpool, very well-known and respected, and not just by Catholics. The initials at the end of his name are French for 'Honor of the Innocent Three' meaning of course, the Blessed Trinity."
Jace remembered now that Rosie had explained it.
"It is immediately obvious that this is the only explanation for the message 'Jack the Ripperger'. It is also apparent that he is not the killer.”
Jace frowned.
Rosie looked at him quizzically. "Do you disagree?" she asked.
The American Detective didn't change his expression.
"No. But it just doesn't make sense." He lowered his coffee cup onto the table and folded his arms across his chest.
Rosie clasped her hands in her lap and tilted her head.
"I mean, why would the killer leave a message pointing to someone who is obviously not the killer? Murderers who leave clues typically do it for one of two reasons: to deliberately mislead the authorities by implicating an innocent, albeit possible, suspect; or to leave factual hints about their identity, as a sort of sick game. In this case, neither possibility fits! What's the point?"
Jace was now pacing across the room. He wasn't really asking any questions, he was just talking to himself.
Rosie interrupted while she had the chance.
"Well, somehow Bishop Jarreck must be connected, or at least have some information that the killer thinks is relevant. We need to talk to him."
Jace gave a short laugh.
"That's going to go over real well. Implicating the Bishop in a serial murder case is like accusing the Queen of Treason."
"I didn't say it would be easy, Jace."
He turned and looked at her. She met his gaze steadily, intently. He looked away.
"So the killer has something against Catholics" Jace said, changing the subject. "He kills Catholic girls, and implicates a Catholic Bishop." He paused thoughtfully. "Must be a Lutheran."
Rosie cleared her throat, and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
"Oh, relax Rosie!" said Jace. "I was just kidding."
Scotland's best detective spoke cautiously. "It’s not that, Jace...”
“Well then, what is it?”
Rosie looked directly at Jace. There was no uncertainty in her voice.
“The killer is a female."
Jace raised an eyebrow. "Ah, Rosie, we've been through this already..."
Rosie Tracer sighed heavily. "No Jace, we haven't. I mentioned it briefly the day after the last two murders, and you immediately dismissed it."
"Well it's obvious!" said Jace, gesturing his arms in exasperation. "There is absolutely no way that one female could overpower two others- especially those Germans!" Jace alluded to physique of the first two murder victims, and that Scotland Yard had established only one killer was present at each of the crime scenes. "Rosie, the victims were overcome swiftly and with brutal force. It's rare to find even a man with that kind of power! If there was a female anywhere in this city capable of such actions, we would have found her already!"
"I know Jace, I know" said Rosie "But you've overlooked one critical error."
"Well what's that, Rosie?"
"Jace, the handwriting never changes. It's the same every time."
Jace Buntley opened his mouth, and then closed it. He blinked.
Rosie blinked back.
There was a terrific silence.
"Well then" Jace said slowly "Maybe we should just start arresting every female that weighs over 90 stones."
He knew better than to question Rosie's authority on graphology.
Rosie Tracer smiled, and looked down…
Jace took another sip from his coffee cup, no longer hot.
"In that case we’ve got the dissection note figured out.” He was referring to the paper they had found at the crime scene that detailed the method of dismemberment.
"If the killer was male, as we first suspected, then the dissection note was his, and he forced the victims to write his sick little message on the wall for him. That would explain the terror behind it.”
Jace paused, and looked into his mug.
“But, if we have correctly determined that the killer is a female, then someone else – a man – wrote the note for her. That means we have an accomplice. That also means we need to explain why the killer would be terrified while writing her own message.”
He looked at Rosie.
Her head was still down.
The room was silence.
Jace sighed and rubbed his temples. There was so much that just didn't make sense! They solved one mystery only to uncover three more.
But they were making progress- together. Just like old times.
Jace looked over at Rosie, still sitting silently in her chair. One hand was laid carelessly in her lap, and the other was on her chin. She was softly, absent-mindedly, biting her index finger. Her cheeks were flushed. Lost in thought.
So quiet.
So demure.
So lovely…
Jace remembered when he had last been in England- in Scotland. He remembered the energy he felt when working with her- the power.
Even the toughest cases seemed almost easy. Time flew- nothing was impossible when they were together.
He smiled from pure admiration. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time surfaced.
“Rose…” Jace began
Rosie wasn’t listening.
********
"Well then, maybe we should just start arresting every female that weighs over 90 stones."
Rosie played these words over in her head.
She smiled when she first heard them- purely, and genuinely- and not because of the joke.
She smiled because Jace accepted her theory without question, without argument, and without pride. His ability to put his ego aside for the sake of reason had always amazed her, and she respected him immensely for it.
What also amazed her was the complete trust he placed in her abilities. Jace knew the power of her psychic abilities, and the passion with which she pursued her work. She would never make a statement as bold as she had without intense feeling behind it- and Jace knew it.
He knew her.
That’s why he didn’t question her.
And that’s why Rosie Tracer was completely defenseless.
Her cheeks grew hot, her heart pounded in her chest.
She touched her face and looked down.
She remembered that feeling from so many years before, when they had been partners together at the S4 academy. She remembered the time they had spent together, the feelings they shared…
And she remembered that those feelings were gone.
They were cold.
They were black.
They were dark shadows in the memory of her heart, behind closed doors and blood-stained walls.
The raging inferno that once engulfed her heart was reduced to embers by one night in Paris.
Time had extinguished even that.
.
.
.
Deep in the corners of Rosie’s heart, a fire was rekindled.
**************
“Rose…”
Rosie Tracer looked up suddenly.
Jace was smiling like she hadn’t seen in years. Like the day she knew he loved her for the first time.
And he had called her Rose. No one else ever called her that.
For one split second, they met each other’s gaze.
For one split second, Jace Buntley and Rosie Tracer shared a feeling neither had known in over five years.
Rosie’s eyes shone with liquid excitement.
But something was wrong.
Buntely’s face became a mask of pain.
*******
There was a terrible crash as a half-empty mug of cold coffee was thrown against the wall.
A hollow door slammed shut.
Rosie Tracer sobbed in an empty room. Empty footsteps sounded down the hall.
Black liquid dripped from the wall.
.
.
.
That night in Paris.
Or, more accurately, Rosie discovered it. This irritated Jace quite immensely.
Not that it surprised him, really- in fact he almost wondered what took her so long. What irritated him was the idea that he had come all the way overseas only to prove his inferiority to a female. Even if she was psychic.
As Davis Nolder drove him to the S4 office, Jace tried to avoid letting it get to him. He did not succeed.
His coolness on the surface belied a volcanic eruption underneath. This was both his strength and his weakness. On the one hand, perception was reality, and getting everyone to buy off on the fact that he was cold, cool, and in control contributed greatly to his success. The other contributions came from willpower, raw talent, and burning emotion. But unless you could read minds, you would never know it.
Rosie knew it. And that was the other hand.
*****
As Jace walked into the S4 offices, he almost ran headfirst into Niles. He wasn’t happy about it. “Hey Jace, how about that Rosie Tracer, eh? Spot on!”
“Yeah, spot on Niles. Get out of my way.”
“You don’t have to be all angry about it! It’s a good thing! We’ve discovered the murderer! Niles glared at him. Jace glared back.
“Ahem.”
Niles moved aside and Jace continued down the hall. He heard Niles muttering behind him. “Too much whiskey last night, I’ll wager. What a grot!”
So what if Niles was right? Jace thought. That was only half the story anyway.
******
Rosie didn’t look up as Jace entered. She sat in a chair facing the wall, as she had done so often in the past.
“I was waiting for you.” was all she said.
Jace moved to the only table in the room, where a coffee pot sat still steaming. He knew it would be good. He poured himself a cup and waited for Rosie to say something else, knowing full well she was waiting for him. It was a game they used to play. However, this time, he wasn’t in the mood to wait for up to 12 hours as it sometimes took. He cleared his throat.
“Well, congratulations. So are you going to tell me how you did it?”
“No.”
Jace sipped his coffee.
Black.
Strong.
He looked out the window and was irritated.
“I’m not going to tell you Jace, because you already know how I did it. You’re irritated because I cracked the code first.” She turned her chair and looked at Jace for the first time. It was true. She didn't need her psychic powers to figure that out.
His answer confirmed her statement.
“I suspected it was an anagram the minute I saw it… I just couldn’t put it together.”
An anagram, Jace thought. A word or phrase which, upon re-arranging the letters, spelled something else- supposedly something with significance.
Jace had once sat down and determined that the letters of his name could spell "Cajun Beetly" or "Jane bet Lucy" - among other things. He didn't know what kind of significance that held. He chuckled silently and remembered two anagrams of Rosie's name - "Secret I Roar" and "A Rector's Ire".
“Pere P.G. Jarreck, H.T.I.” Rosie said, bringing Jace out of his introspection.
Jace was silent. The name sounded vaguely familiar... but he didn't know why.
"Father Pierre Gabriel Jarreck, Honneur le Triese Innocentes." Rosie spoke again.
Jace was silent again. He knew French when he heard it - but that didn't mean he knew French. Rosie continued.
“Father Jarreck is the Catholic Bishop of Liverpool, very well-known and respected, and not just by Catholics. The initials at the end of his name are French for 'Honor of the Innocent Three' meaning of course, the Blessed Trinity."
Jace remembered now that Rosie had explained it.
"It is immediately obvious that this is the only explanation for the message 'Jack the Ripperger'. It is also apparent that he is not the killer.”
Jace frowned.
Rosie looked at him quizzically. "Do you disagree?" she asked.
The American Detective didn't change his expression.
"No. But it just doesn't make sense." He lowered his coffee cup onto the table and folded his arms across his chest.
Rosie clasped her hands in her lap and tilted her head.
"I mean, why would the killer leave a message pointing to someone who is obviously not the killer? Murderers who leave clues typically do it for one of two reasons: to deliberately mislead the authorities by implicating an innocent, albeit possible, suspect; or to leave factual hints about their identity, as a sort of sick game. In this case, neither possibility fits! What's the point?"
Jace was now pacing across the room. He wasn't really asking any questions, he was just talking to himself.
Rosie interrupted while she had the chance.
"Well, somehow Bishop Jarreck must be connected, or at least have some information that the killer thinks is relevant. We need to talk to him."
Jace gave a short laugh.
"That's going to go over real well. Implicating the Bishop in a serial murder case is like accusing the Queen of Treason."
"I didn't say it would be easy, Jace."
He turned and looked at her. She met his gaze steadily, intently. He looked away.
"So the killer has something against Catholics" Jace said, changing the subject. "He kills Catholic girls, and implicates a Catholic Bishop." He paused thoughtfully. "Must be a Lutheran."
Rosie cleared her throat, and shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
"Oh, relax Rosie!" said Jace. "I was just kidding."
Scotland's best detective spoke cautiously. "It’s not that, Jace...”
“Well then, what is it?”
Rosie looked directly at Jace. There was no uncertainty in her voice.
“The killer is a female."
Jace raised an eyebrow. "Ah, Rosie, we've been through this already..."
Rosie Tracer sighed heavily. "No Jace, we haven't. I mentioned it briefly the day after the last two murders, and you immediately dismissed it."
"Well it's obvious!" said Jace, gesturing his arms in exasperation. "There is absolutely no way that one female could overpower two others- especially those Germans!" Jace alluded to physique of the first two murder victims, and that Scotland Yard had established only one killer was present at each of the crime scenes. "Rosie, the victims were overcome swiftly and with brutal force. It's rare to find even a man with that kind of power! If there was a female anywhere in this city capable of such actions, we would have found her already!"
"I know Jace, I know" said Rosie "But you've overlooked one critical error."
"Well what's that, Rosie?"
"Jace, the handwriting never changes. It's the same every time."
Jace Buntley opened his mouth, and then closed it. He blinked.
Rosie blinked back.
There was a terrific silence.
"Well then" Jace said slowly "Maybe we should just start arresting every female that weighs over 90 stones."
He knew better than to question Rosie's authority on graphology.
Rosie Tracer smiled, and looked down…
Jace took another sip from his coffee cup, no longer hot.
"In that case we’ve got the dissection note figured out.” He was referring to the paper they had found at the crime scene that detailed the method of dismemberment.
"If the killer was male, as we first suspected, then the dissection note was his, and he forced the victims to write his sick little message on the wall for him. That would explain the terror behind it.”
Jace paused, and looked into his mug.
“But, if we have correctly determined that the killer is a female, then someone else – a man – wrote the note for her. That means we have an accomplice. That also means we need to explain why the killer would be terrified while writing her own message.”
He looked at Rosie.
Her head was still down.
The room was silence.
Jace sighed and rubbed his temples. There was so much that just didn't make sense! They solved one mystery only to uncover three more.
But they were making progress- together. Just like old times.
Jace looked over at Rosie, still sitting silently in her chair. One hand was laid carelessly in her lap, and the other was on her chin. She was softly, absent-mindedly, biting her index finger. Her cheeks were flushed. Lost in thought.
So quiet.
So demure.
So lovely…
Jace remembered when he had last been in England- in Scotland. He remembered the energy he felt when working with her- the power.
Even the toughest cases seemed almost easy. Time flew- nothing was impossible when they were together.
He smiled from pure admiration. Something he hadn’t felt in a long time surfaced.
“Rose…” Jace began
Rosie wasn’t listening.
********
"Well then, maybe we should just start arresting every female that weighs over 90 stones."
Rosie played these words over in her head.
She smiled when she first heard them- purely, and genuinely- and not because of the joke.
She smiled because Jace accepted her theory without question, without argument, and without pride. His ability to put his ego aside for the sake of reason had always amazed her, and she respected him immensely for it.
What also amazed her was the complete trust he placed in her abilities. Jace knew the power of her psychic abilities, and the passion with which she pursued her work. She would never make a statement as bold as she had without intense feeling behind it- and Jace knew it.
He knew her.
That’s why he didn’t question her.
And that’s why Rosie Tracer was completely defenseless.
Her cheeks grew hot, her heart pounded in her chest.
She touched her face and looked down.
She remembered that feeling from so many years before, when they had been partners together at the S4 academy. She remembered the time they had spent together, the feelings they shared…
And she remembered that those feelings were gone.
They were cold.
They were black.
They were dark shadows in the memory of her heart, behind closed doors and blood-stained walls.
The raging inferno that once engulfed her heart was reduced to embers by one night in Paris.
Time had extinguished even that.
.
.
.
Deep in the corners of Rosie’s heart, a fire was rekindled.
**************
“Rose…”
Rosie Tracer looked up suddenly.
Jace was smiling like she hadn’t seen in years. Like the day she knew he loved her for the first time.
And he had called her Rose. No one else ever called her that.
For one split second, they met each other’s gaze.
For one split second, Jace Buntley and Rosie Tracer shared a feeling neither had known in over five years.
Rosie’s eyes shone with liquid excitement.
But something was wrong.
Buntely’s face became a mask of pain.
*******
There was a terrible crash as a half-empty mug of cold coffee was thrown against the wall.
A hollow door slammed shut.
Rosie Tracer sobbed in an empty room. Empty footsteps sounded down the hall.
Black liquid dripped from the wall.
.
.
.
That night in Paris.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Yes, I'
I don't really know how that happened. ...It's kind of like that day the post "Eat a Bug" just happened to pop up on the screen. I'm not quite sure I know how that happened, either.
I think there's a ghost-poster.
Anyway, what that post was originally supposed to be is no longer of interest to me.
::laughs:: Or something like that.
Excuse me. I have other things to do. The blog isn't very high on my priority list of late. Packing and hanging out with the friends I won't be able to hang out with in a couple of weeks has taken over my life for the time-being. Perhaps once I move to Clear Creek I will again have the time and inclination to post more *interesting* posts....Kevin.
So, see ya later.
John. Quit being so boring and say something.
I think there's a ghost-poster.
Anyway, what that post was originally supposed to be is no longer of interest to me.
::laughs:: Or something like that.
Excuse me. I have other things to do. The blog isn't very high on my priority list of late. Packing and hanging out with the friends I won't be able to hang out with in a couple of weeks has taken over my life for the time-being. Perhaps once I move to Clear Creek I will again have the time and inclination to post more *interesting* posts....Kevin.
So, see ya later.
John. Quit being so boring and say something.
Saturday, January 21, 2006
Ride the Wind
~Ride the wind, Cowboy. The calm won't take you far.~
I found this quote online, and I've decided that I like it very much.
I found this quote online, and I've decided that I like it very much.
For Andrea
~Cloves
~Catharsis
~Costellos
~Happy Cows
~LH3
~Gerard Butler
~SS
~Jake
~Lagaan
Good luck, Ang. I'll miss you.
~Catharsis
~Costellos
~Happy Cows
~LH3
~Gerard Butler
~SS
~Jake
~Lagaan
Good luck, Ang. I'll miss you.
Friday, January 20, 2006
A Good Army and a Bad Army
A long, long time ago there was a battle. This is a battle of medieval time. There were spearmen, swordsmen, horsemen that had spears, daggermen, and men that cut the ropes to let the catapults launch.
They were having battles for a long time. They had an extremely large army for lots of battles.
They fighted in the spring, in the summer, in the fall, and even in the winter.
They were battling because the evil army was trying to murder and kill and burn up all of the land, so they had to defend it.
Jackston was the general of the Good Army. Sigo was the general of the Bad Army.
One day they had a battle at the castle, not in the fields, but at the castle. Arrows flying in the sky, killing men. The Bad Army almost won. But then Jackston came up with a great plan.
They had ladders inside of the castle, and they put it at the back of the castle. They had a sneak attack to keep the Bad Army out. They had a signal at the bottom to make the catapults launch to attack the Bad Army.
The Good Army won that battle. But there were many more to come.
They were having battles for a long time. They had an extremely large army for lots of battles.
They fighted in the spring, in the summer, in the fall, and even in the winter.
They were battling because the evil army was trying to murder and kill and burn up all of the land, so they had to defend it.
Jackston was the general of the Good Army. Sigo was the general of the Bad Army.
One day they had a battle at the castle, not in the fields, but at the castle. Arrows flying in the sky, killing men. The Bad Army almost won. But then Jackston came up with a great plan.
They had ladders inside of the castle, and they put it at the back of the castle. They had a sneak attack to keep the Bad Army out. They had a signal at the bottom to make the catapults launch to attack the Bad Army.
The Good Army won that battle. But there were many more to come.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Krav Maga at Level 3
Congratulations, Andrea!!
Ang was *awesome* tonight!
She passed, of course, and she got in some *great* hits.
But--oooh my goodness--it was intense. I don't think anyone who hadn't been there before could understand what she was going through. I had to leave the room a couple of times because I remembered what it was like to be going through that--and I wasn't even anywhere *NEAR* Andrea's level. But she did an amazing job.
::giggles:: Jake sure took a beating, though. Woooow. ::shakes head at the thought:: They definitely make a great team.
Ang did let her left down a few times, but she managed to hit her Mark....I mean mark. ::giggles::
Great job, Ang!! I'm so glad I was there for it. And I wouldn't have missed the celebrating for anything. ;)
As a side note, I said goodbye to Jake tonight. There won't be anymore rock-climbing for me. It was weird saying goodbye. It's been so much fun knowing him--and he's really taught me a lot. Being there tonight reminded me of when I took Krav from him last year, and it made me want to get back into it. ::smiles:: Maybe it's a good thing I'll be moving in a few days.
Ang was *awesome* tonight!
She passed, of course, and she got in some *great* hits.
But--oooh my goodness--it was intense. I don't think anyone who hadn't been there before could understand what she was going through. I had to leave the room a couple of times because I remembered what it was like to be going through that--and I wasn't even anywhere *NEAR* Andrea's level. But she did an amazing job.
::giggles:: Jake sure took a beating, though. Woooow. ::shakes head at the thought:: They definitely make a great team.
Ang did let her left down a few times, but she managed to hit her Mark....I mean mark. ::giggles::
Great job, Ang!! I'm so glad I was there for it. And I wouldn't have missed the celebrating for anything. ;)
As a side note, I said goodbye to Jake tonight. There won't be anymore rock-climbing for me. It was weird saying goodbye. It's been so much fun knowing him--and he's really taught me a lot. Being there tonight reminded me of when I took Krav from him last year, and it made me want to get back into it. ::smiles:: Maybe it's a good thing I'll be moving in a few days.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
W.O.A.
Waiting on Andrea.
She's in the garage.
Punching a bag.
Or something.
I don't really know what, but it's making odd noises. The kind that would scare me if I were in the house all alone at night.
We'll be leaving in a minute for her test. ::shudders:: I *so* do not envy her this testing. Jake will not show mercy. This is level 3. The highest you can go--unless you're in the military or training as a bodyguard.
She isn't moving tomorrow after all. She is going on Saturday. Father Rick told her that he felt badly about her having to rush so quickly, and to go ahead and come in a couple of weeks, but she (being Ang) wants to get to work, and so is leaving in three days. ::sigh::
Anyway--y'all say a prayer that her testing goes well. I'll let you know how it goes!
:D
She's in the garage.
Punching a bag.
Or something.
I don't really know what, but it's making odd noises. The kind that would scare me if I were in the house all alone at night.
We'll be leaving in a minute for her test. ::shudders:: I *so* do not envy her this testing. Jake will not show mercy. This is level 3. The highest you can go--unless you're in the military or training as a bodyguard.
She isn't moving tomorrow after all. She is going on Saturday. Father Rick told her that he felt badly about her having to rush so quickly, and to go ahead and come in a couple of weeks, but she (being Ang) wants to get to work, and so is leaving in three days. ::sigh::
Anyway--y'all say a prayer that her testing goes well. I'll let you know how it goes!
:D
Once, Twice, Thrice
And it makes me laugh every single time.
Kind of like this commercial for a movie with Julia Roberts. I had never seen the movie, and I probably never will, but in this commercial she is all dressed up, and Richard Gere is holding a jewlery box out to her. She starts to reach for the necklace inside, and at the last second he clicks the box shut, scaring her and causing her to laugh.
I don't know what it was about her reaction, but it made *me* laugh *every* single time.
Okay, so, moving on....
The blogs have been so quiet lately. What's going on? ::shrugs:: I haven't felt much like posting. I have so much going on. Someone should tell "Davin" to post another chapter to his story. It's so mean to leave everybody hanging like this. Speaking of which...'The London Murders' *IS* still in the works. Dan just...well. The longer we wait, the better the chapter will be. That's all.
I'm going to Kelly's apartment in a little while. She is having a phone-line put in, so I'm going to hang out with her while the telephone guys are there. Then I'm going to go watch Andrea test at level 3 for Krav Maga. *That* should be interesting.
Andrea is moving tomorrow.
And I'm not talking about it right now. I'm still in denial.
...Unlike Mary.
::smirks::
Kind of like this commercial for a movie with Julia Roberts. I had never seen the movie, and I probably never will, but in this commercial she is all dressed up, and Richard Gere is holding a jewlery box out to her. She starts to reach for the necklace inside, and at the last second he clicks the box shut, scaring her and causing her to laugh.
I don't know what it was about her reaction, but it made *me* laugh *every* single time.
Okay, so, moving on....
The blogs have been so quiet lately. What's going on? ::shrugs:: I haven't felt much like posting. I have so much going on. Someone should tell "Davin" to post another chapter to his story. It's so mean to leave everybody hanging like this. Speaking of which...'The London Murders' *IS* still in the works. Dan just...well. The longer we wait, the better the chapter will be. That's all.
I'm going to Kelly's apartment in a little while. She is having a phone-line put in, so I'm going to hang out with her while the telephone guys are there. Then I'm going to go watch Andrea test at level 3 for Krav Maga. *That* should be interesting.
Andrea is moving tomorrow.
And I'm not talking about it right now. I'm still in denial.
...Unlike Mary.
::smirks::
Monday, January 16, 2006
Grandpa Gordon's Army Coat
'Tis quite odd the things you find when you move.
Saturday morning John and I went to get my dresser from the barn and...::re-reads that and is suddenly struck with the complete back-woods-y sound of it, and laughs accordingly::...and while we were out there, John picked up an old, green coat. "Look," he said. "This was Grandpa's."
Yup. Sure enough. There was the Screaming Eagles emblem, and the stripes with a big 'T' underneath (my dad says it stands for Tech-5...::shrugs::), and....it was history. And it was weird.
Grandpa Gordon was a paratrooper during WWII. And I was holding the coat he wore during that time.
My dad says Grandpa never talked about the war. He and his war buddies would get together sometimes, but the war never came up. I guess they were too deeply effected by it. I don't know.
I wish my grandpa were still alive. I'd like to know what it was like back then. And Grandma, too. I don't even know if they knew each other while he was off fighting. I think it's the writer in me that makes me think all these things. ::laughs softly:: But maybe it's a good thing I can't ask Grandpa Gordon about it. Maybe he wouldn't like it. ...Maybe he would think I was over-analytical.
Anyway--::laughs and knows that some things can be pushed too far...but can't find it in her heart to care because it's funny::--I tried that old, dirty coat on. And that was *weird*. I was wearing Grandpa's uniform! It fit me. That was weird too. Later on my dad told me that Grandpa was only 5'8 (an inch taller than me). It surprised me because my dad and uncle John are tall--5'11 or 6'. I always pictured Grandpa as being tall, too.
"Hey, Dad...how about I store that coat in my closet? So it's not in the barn anymore...I noticed there were some holes in it."
"Sure. Sure. Go ahead."
"...Do you think that taking it to the dry-cleaners would make it fall apart?"
"I don't know. But you can ask them."
"Okay. I'll do that."
"...Tell ya what...if you get it cleaned and mended, you can have it."
Cooool.
Hey--y'all...I get my grandfather's WWII army coat.
::is in writer's heaven::
Saturday morning John and I went to get my dresser from the barn and...::re-reads that and is suddenly struck with the complete back-woods-y sound of it, and laughs accordingly::...and while we were out there, John picked up an old, green coat. "Look," he said. "This was Grandpa's."
Yup. Sure enough. There was the Screaming Eagles emblem, and the stripes with a big 'T' underneath (my dad says it stands for Tech-5...::shrugs::), and....it was history. And it was weird.
Grandpa Gordon was a paratrooper during WWII. And I was holding the coat he wore during that time.
My dad says Grandpa never talked about the war. He and his war buddies would get together sometimes, but the war never came up. I guess they were too deeply effected by it. I don't know.
I wish my grandpa were still alive. I'd like to know what it was like back then. And Grandma, too. I don't even know if they knew each other while he was off fighting. I think it's the writer in me that makes me think all these things. ::laughs softly:: But maybe it's a good thing I can't ask Grandpa Gordon about it. Maybe he wouldn't like it. ...Maybe he would think I was over-analytical.
Anyway--::laughs and knows that some things can be pushed too far...but can't find it in her heart to care because it's funny::--I tried that old, dirty coat on. And that was *weird*. I was wearing Grandpa's uniform! It fit me. That was weird too. Later on my dad told me that Grandpa was only 5'8 (an inch taller than me). It surprised me because my dad and uncle John are tall--5'11 or 6'. I always pictured Grandpa as being tall, too.
"Hey, Dad...how about I store that coat in my closet? So it's not in the barn anymore...I noticed there were some holes in it."
"Sure. Sure. Go ahead."
"...Do you think that taking it to the dry-cleaners would make it fall apart?"
"I don't know. But you can ask them."
"Okay. I'll do that."
"...Tell ya what...if you get it cleaned and mended, you can have it."
Cooool.
Hey--y'all...I get my grandfather's WWII army coat.
::is in writer's heaven::
Friday, January 13, 2006
Long Day in Clear Creek
Test run of the new game "Cigarettes and a Lighter" showed it's not much fun. I don't suggest playing it. ::winks and grins::
My dad is doing well. He is on his way home from the hospital right now. The heart-cath showed that the stent he had put in a few years ago is blocked, but they said it wasn't enough of a worry for them to unblock it. (When it was put in it was done in the hope that it would lessen the undetermined chest pain he was having--not necessarily because it was a danger to his life.)
He did have a heart-attack at some point which effected a small part of the lower heart, but no major damage was done. I think I pin-pointed when it might have been--but what do I know? My dad isn't sure when it was. It's so common for his chest to hurt.
The doctor told him he needed to get off of the cigarettes "at some point." ::laughs:: Yeeeeah.
...My two big brothers had the same message for my dad--via *ME*. Marc and James both said, "Tell Dad he can't have anymore cigarettes." I was like, "Um...okay...no *way*." They both laughed--I talked to them at separate times, by the way--then said, "If he doesn't like it, tell him to call me."
I had to laugh. First of all, they both said the same thing, but also because that's an easy thing to say from 150 miles away. ::giggles:: Thanks for the support, guys.
Dad just walked in the door. I have to go.
My dad is doing well. He is on his way home from the hospital right now. The heart-cath showed that the stent he had put in a few years ago is blocked, but they said it wasn't enough of a worry for them to unblock it. (When it was put in it was done in the hope that it would lessen the undetermined chest pain he was having--not necessarily because it was a danger to his life.)
He did have a heart-attack at some point which effected a small part of the lower heart, but no major damage was done. I think I pin-pointed when it might have been--but what do I know? My dad isn't sure when it was. It's so common for his chest to hurt.
The doctor told him he needed to get off of the cigarettes "at some point." ::laughs:: Yeeeeah.
...My two big brothers had the same message for my dad--via *ME*. Marc and James both said, "Tell Dad he can't have anymore cigarettes." I was like, "Um...okay...no *way*." They both laughed--I talked to them at separate times, by the way--then said, "If he doesn't like it, tell him to call me."
I had to laugh. First of all, they both said the same thing, but also because that's an easy thing to say from 150 miles away. ::giggles:: Thanks for the support, guys.
Dad just walked in the door. I have to go.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
'Cigarettes and a Lighter'
It's a new game. My dad and I just made it up.
I'm going to take him a lighter, and he has to try to find a cigarette to use it on...from his hospital bed. In ICU. While wearing oxygen. Woo hoo!!! Fun times!
Of course, this is the slightly modified version of the game. *My* version, actually. *His* version was too boring. He simply wanted me to bring him a lighter and a cigarette when I get into Talequah tonight.
So I told him I would bring the lighter, and the fun part of the game would be his trying to find someone *else* to bring him a cigarette.
Kind of reminds me of the game Heather and Kelly and I made up when we were little--'How Well Do You Know Your Room in the Dark?' We would turn all of the lights off in our bedroom, then we would hide. If you were "It", you had to try to find the hiders by feeling around. Of course this didn't really work when there was a full moon out. After a minute or two you could see everything perfectly. Especially if one of the girls was standing on the desk....
Maybe I'll take him a candle instead.
Okay, so, if you want an update on my dad, go read the comments under the last post. Beth commented. I would, but...well...Beth already did for one thing, but I also just don't have the time. I am in a hurry to get to Clear Creek.
Keep up the prayers, though.
Thanks.
Pax.
I'm going to take him a lighter, and he has to try to find a cigarette to use it on...from his hospital bed. In ICU. While wearing oxygen. Woo hoo!!! Fun times!
Of course, this is the slightly modified version of the game. *My* version, actually. *His* version was too boring. He simply wanted me to bring him a lighter and a cigarette when I get into Talequah tonight.
So I told him I would bring the lighter, and the fun part of the game would be his trying to find someone *else* to bring him a cigarette.
Kind of reminds me of the game Heather and Kelly and I made up when we were little--'How Well Do You Know Your Room in the Dark?' We would turn all of the lights off in our bedroom, then we would hide. If you were "It", you had to try to find the hiders by feeling around. Of course this didn't really work when there was a full moon out. After a minute or two you could see everything perfectly. Especially if one of the girls was standing on the desk....
Maybe I'll take him a candle instead.
Okay, so, if you want an update on my dad, go read the comments under the last post. Beth commented. I would, but...well...Beth already did for one thing, but I also just don't have the time. I am in a hurry to get to Clear Creek.
Keep up the prayers, though.
Thanks.
Pax.
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
I Can't Sleep, So...
...I'm going to post the rest of my Poor Girl story. I was going to wait until tomorrow to do it, but... ::shrugs:: Now is just as good as time as any.
~*~*~A Cynical Fairy Tale part II~*~*~
The following day Prince Charming appeared right on time with Beautiful Steed's reins in his hand. And, as was fully expected, he fell to one knee and begged for Poor Girl's hand in marriage. Poor Girl laughed and told him what a silly fellow he was--and that he should get up off his knee--the ground was wet! Of course she would marry him! He hesitated. There was one condition, he said. His mother wanted to taste her cooking--she could cook, couldn't she? Not that she would ever have to, but it was a thing with his mother.
Of course she could cook! And she was very willing to prove it to his mother. Prince Charming, who was very relieved, raised himself from the wet grass and went happily along his way--but only after having made a promise to bring his mother to dinner the next night.
As soon as he was out of sight Poor Girl took off running as Poor Girl's never should. But--after all--she did have reason.
She had only a little over 27 hours to learn to cook.
Somewhere in the garden there was a rake left by a forgetful gardener--or perhaps it was Fate--one never knows with such things. Unfortunately, Poor Girl did not see the rake. But she found it. Or rather her foot found it--but her face was a close second. Luckily Poor Girl was able to jump up after only a couple of hours, and she continued running for the kitchen and the girl inside cooking--Lassie.
The next night a delicious dinner was served. Everything was beautifully prepared. This was due largely, and in fact wholly, to Lassie who had prepared the meal. She had also come up with the idea, after Poor Girl's many failed attempts at simply cracking eggs, to tell Prince Charming's Mother that Poor Girl was feeling so poorly after her brush with death that Lassie had prepared the dinner for Her Majesty. Before this could be done, however, after only the first bite, Prince Charming's Mother ordered him to marry the girl who had prepared the meal. When it was pointed out that Lassie had cooked the dinner and not Poor Girl, due to her unfortunate accident, Prince Charming's Mother would not relent. "I could not possibly have a girl as clumsy as that for a daughter. Besides, she looks ghastly with that welt on her head!"
Imagine Poor Girl's dismay when she heard Prince Charming say; "You are quite right, Mother. We could not possibly have a clumsy girl in this family. And she does look terribly ghastly with that welt."
"Look at her trying to hide it behind her hair!" His Mother was a bit too honest for dinner conversation, but it couldn't be helped just then. "Ridiculously foolish of her!" Her son answered back.
The very next night Poor Girl watched as Prince Charming walked down the isle with Lassie. At first Poor Girl thought she might have a broken heart, but she had to change her mind when she saw the back of the wedding program. It read:
CONGRATULATIONS TO PRINCE AND LASSIE
Poor Girl laughed to herself as she walked away.
They were obviously meant for each other.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The moral of this story?
I was once told that men are like parking spaces. All the good ones are taken. Or they're dead. (I know, I know--a parking space can't die. But my aunt thinks they can, so let's not argue.)
Seriously, though--I guess a good moral would be that people and situations are rarely what they seem. Keep looking. Sooner or later--you'll see.
"Don't believe everything you hear, and only *half* of what you see."
~*~Tracy Marie Therese Robinson~*~
*~March 29th, 2003
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
::winks:: I hope y'all enjoyed it.
Um--no news on my dad yet. Things are the same now as they were when I last posted. Thanks for the prayers.
~*~*~A Cynical Fairy Tale part II~*~*~
The following day Prince Charming appeared right on time with Beautiful Steed's reins in his hand. And, as was fully expected, he fell to one knee and begged for Poor Girl's hand in marriage. Poor Girl laughed and told him what a silly fellow he was--and that he should get up off his knee--the ground was wet! Of course she would marry him! He hesitated. There was one condition, he said. His mother wanted to taste her cooking--she could cook, couldn't she? Not that she would ever have to, but it was a thing with his mother.
Of course she could cook! And she was very willing to prove it to his mother. Prince Charming, who was very relieved, raised himself from the wet grass and went happily along his way--but only after having made a promise to bring his mother to dinner the next night.
As soon as he was out of sight Poor Girl took off running as Poor Girl's never should. But--after all--she did have reason.
She had only a little over 27 hours to learn to cook.
Somewhere in the garden there was a rake left by a forgetful gardener--or perhaps it was Fate--one never knows with such things. Unfortunately, Poor Girl did not see the rake. But she found it. Or rather her foot found it--but her face was a close second. Luckily Poor Girl was able to jump up after only a couple of hours, and she continued running for the kitchen and the girl inside cooking--Lassie.
The next night a delicious dinner was served. Everything was beautifully prepared. This was due largely, and in fact wholly, to Lassie who had prepared the meal. She had also come up with the idea, after Poor Girl's many failed attempts at simply cracking eggs, to tell Prince Charming's Mother that Poor Girl was feeling so poorly after her brush with death that Lassie had prepared the dinner for Her Majesty. Before this could be done, however, after only the first bite, Prince Charming's Mother ordered him to marry the girl who had prepared the meal. When it was pointed out that Lassie had cooked the dinner and not Poor Girl, due to her unfortunate accident, Prince Charming's Mother would not relent. "I could not possibly have a girl as clumsy as that for a daughter. Besides, she looks ghastly with that welt on her head!"
Imagine Poor Girl's dismay when she heard Prince Charming say; "You are quite right, Mother. We could not possibly have a clumsy girl in this family. And she does look terribly ghastly with that welt."
"Look at her trying to hide it behind her hair!" His Mother was a bit too honest for dinner conversation, but it couldn't be helped just then. "Ridiculously foolish of her!" Her son answered back.
The very next night Poor Girl watched as Prince Charming walked down the isle with Lassie. At first Poor Girl thought she might have a broken heart, but she had to change her mind when she saw the back of the wedding program. It read:
CONGRATULATIONS TO PRINCE AND LASSIE
Poor Girl laughed to herself as she walked away.
They were obviously meant for each other.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The moral of this story?
I was once told that men are like parking spaces. All the good ones are taken. Or they're dead. (I know, I know--a parking space can't die. But my aunt thinks they can, so let's not argue.)
Seriously, though--I guess a good moral would be that people and situations are rarely what they seem. Keep looking. Sooner or later--you'll see.
"Don't believe everything you hear, and only *half* of what you see."
~*~Tracy Marie Therese Robinson~*~
*~March 29th, 2003
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
::winks:: I hope y'all enjoyed it.
Um--no news on my dad yet. Things are the same now as they were when I last posted. Thanks for the prayers.
My Dad
::shakes head:: I hate doing stuff like this. It's like, no matter how you word it, it tends to sound borderline melodramatic....
Okay, so, in an *un*melodramatic way, my dad was having chest pains today so my mom took him to the hospital. Every once in a while my dad gets terrible chest pain, and since heart trouble runs in the family, we're always afraid it's a heart attack. It never has been before--but they've also never been quite sure of what it actually was.
It's been a few months since my dad has had one of those chest attacks, but he had one earlier today. They said his EKG came back "grossly abnormal"...whatever that means...but that it didn't appear there was any "ongoing damage". Meaning? ::shrugs:: These are the times I wish I were a nurse. I think my mom said they didn't think he was having a heart attack, but that the results should he could have at some point, and he didn't know about it.
They are keeping my dad overnight, and a cardiologist is going to see him tomorrow. They are checking to see if his stent--which he had put in a few years ago--is clogged, or if there are any other narrowings. But he's stable now. ...I'm not really sure what we're dealing with here.
Please say some prayers for him. And the rest of my family.
I'll let you guys know when I hear anything new.
Pax.
Okay, so, in an *un*melodramatic way, my dad was having chest pains today so my mom took him to the hospital. Every once in a while my dad gets terrible chest pain, and since heart trouble runs in the family, we're always afraid it's a heart attack. It never has been before--but they've also never been quite sure of what it actually was.
It's been a few months since my dad has had one of those chest attacks, but he had one earlier today. They said his EKG came back "grossly abnormal"...whatever that means...but that it didn't appear there was any "ongoing damage". Meaning? ::shrugs:: These are the times I wish I were a nurse. I think my mom said they didn't think he was having a heart attack, but that the results should he could have at some point, and he didn't know about it.
They are keeping my dad overnight, and a cardiologist is going to see him tomorrow. They are checking to see if his stent--which he had put in a few years ago--is clogged, or if there are any other narrowings. But he's stable now. ...I'm not really sure what we're dealing with here.
Please say some prayers for him. And the rest of my family.
I'll let you guys know when I hear anything new.
Pax.
A Cynical Fairy Tale
A long time ago someone sent me a short, cynical fairy tale that I found very amusing.
But this post isn't about that fairy tale.
It's about the fairy tale I sent in reply.
For some odd reason the short email sparked my imagination, and I soon met up with Poor Girl, Lassie, Prince Charming, and Beautiful Steed.
I've never really given it a name. I just call it "A Cynical Fairy Tale" or "My Poor Girl Story". If y'all can think up any good names, I'm open to suggestions. ;) ...though perhaps those names are most appropriate.
Over the years I have changed bits and pieces throughout the story, and the copies of these changes are strewn from here to Clear Creek, so I'm never really sure which is the final copy. The one I have in front of me right now may not be the one I actually want set forth as My Poor Girl Story, but oh well.
So--since Dan is diligently working on making the next chapter of TLM just *so*, I will post my fairy tale while we are waiting for Det. Jace Buntley to reappear...*alive*
(This may have to be posted in two or three posts--it's a bit on the longish side.)
~*~*~A Cynical Fairy Tale ~*~*~
Once upon a time there was a witty, understanding, thoughtful, intelligent, polite, handsome, tall, blue-eyed prince named Prince Charming. Prince Charming was the last of the Charming Royalty, and therefore had a beautiful castle in Scotland. Now this meant three things; first, he had *the* coolest accent. Second, he was rich. Third, he was Catholic. (<--In my Fairy Tale, anything goes.)
Somehow Prince Charming had managed to make it all the way to 22 years of age without marrying. This did not go unnoticed. In fact, it was quite noticed. One girl in particular noticed and decided to act upon these noticings. (<--I don't think that's a real word, but it works for my Fairy Tale.) That would account for why one day a not-so-bad-looking-girl happened, very purposely by accident, to run into the young prince. In fact, she ran into him with such force that a good-sized welt appeared on her forehead just seconds after their meeting.
Now, Prince Charming being Prince Charming, he *just happened* to have a small bag of ice for the unsightly bump on Poor Girl's head, and, to go along with it, a compliment for Poor Girl's wounded pride. The world stopped when precious Prince Charming said; "Dear girl, if you let your hair fall in such a way, the slight reddening of your pretty head is entirely covered. Of course, I see no reason for you to do such a thing, but I must confess I find your beautiful tresses quite appealing."
Poor Girl's pride was saved. Prince Charming was a hero. Beautiful Steed was enthralled by the whole scene. Beautiful Steed was the horse upon which Prince Charming rode. (Disclaimer: It is physically impossible for an acronym to exist in my Fairy Tale. Therefore, if--in the hopes of making the story shorter--you acronym anything, the results are the result of your own twisted thinking.)
From that beautiful spring day forward Poor Girl rarely thought of anything but Prince Charming and his Beautiful Steed. She was especially reminded of them when she looked in her mirror and saw the three-inch scar which ran across her right temple. (Please do not bother protesting that welts cannot scar. In my Fairy Tale welts can do anything.) Poor Girl often would run her left ring-finger along her unsightly scar while sighing softly. She especially liked to do this at the dinner table--when Prince Charming was present--just after her father, who was watching them from the head of the table, asked the servant to fetch the firearm that needed cleaning.
The servant, being Scottish, was name Lassie. Some sadistic person named her. Someone who knew she was to be a servant. I suppose they thought there were being funny. 'Til the day she died, Lasie was asked to "fetch" everything from a firearm to her master's slippers. Poor Girl's father thought he was almost as funny as the person who named her. Oh well. No one ever said that life is fair. Oh--wait--yes they did. But they're dead now. Lassie shot them with a firearm her master had just finished cleaning.
Anyway, one night after a particulary loud sigh from Poor Girl, Prince Charming took her aside and said that he would be coming to see her again the following afternoon, and that she should be waiting for him in the garden. Poor Girl happily agreed to this and bid the handsome prince goodnight. But not before Prince Charming kissed her softly and told her she was the sweetest of all womanhood. He also confessed his confusion as to what he had done to deserve her. (In Poor Girl's opinion it had been precious little, but she decided to let it slide.)
~*~*~*~*~*~coming soon~*~*~*~*~*~*~A Cynical Fairy Tale part II~*~*~*~*~
But this post isn't about that fairy tale.
It's about the fairy tale I sent in reply.
For some odd reason the short email sparked my imagination, and I soon met up with Poor Girl, Lassie, Prince Charming, and Beautiful Steed.
I've never really given it a name. I just call it "A Cynical Fairy Tale" or "My Poor Girl Story". If y'all can think up any good names, I'm open to suggestions. ;) ...though perhaps those names are most appropriate.
Over the years I have changed bits and pieces throughout the story, and the copies of these changes are strewn from here to Clear Creek, so I'm never really sure which is the final copy. The one I have in front of me right now may not be the one I actually want set forth as My Poor Girl Story, but oh well.
So--since Dan is diligently working on making the next chapter of TLM just *so*, I will post my fairy tale while we are waiting for Det. Jace Buntley to reappear...*alive*
(This may have to be posted in two or three posts--it's a bit on the longish side.)
~*~*~A Cynical Fairy Tale ~*~*~
Once upon a time there was a witty, understanding, thoughtful, intelligent, polite, handsome, tall, blue-eyed prince named Prince Charming. Prince Charming was the last of the Charming Royalty, and therefore had a beautiful castle in Scotland. Now this meant three things; first, he had *the* coolest accent. Second, he was rich. Third, he was Catholic. (<--In my Fairy Tale, anything goes.)
Somehow Prince Charming had managed to make it all the way to 22 years of age without marrying. This did not go unnoticed. In fact, it was quite noticed. One girl in particular noticed and decided to act upon these noticings. (<--I don't think that's a real word, but it works for my Fairy Tale.) That would account for why one day a not-so-bad-looking-girl happened, very purposely by accident, to run into the young prince. In fact, she ran into him with such force that a good-sized welt appeared on her forehead just seconds after their meeting.
Now, Prince Charming being Prince Charming, he *just happened* to have a small bag of ice for the unsightly bump on Poor Girl's head, and, to go along with it, a compliment for Poor Girl's wounded pride. The world stopped when precious Prince Charming said; "Dear girl, if you let your hair fall in such a way, the slight reddening of your pretty head is entirely covered. Of course, I see no reason for you to do such a thing, but I must confess I find your beautiful tresses quite appealing."
Poor Girl's pride was saved. Prince Charming was a hero. Beautiful Steed was enthralled by the whole scene. Beautiful Steed was the horse upon which Prince Charming rode. (Disclaimer: It is physically impossible for an acronym to exist in my Fairy Tale. Therefore, if--in the hopes of making the story shorter--you acronym anything, the results are the result of your own twisted thinking.)
From that beautiful spring day forward Poor Girl rarely thought of anything but Prince Charming and his Beautiful Steed. She was especially reminded of them when she looked in her mirror and saw the three-inch scar which ran across her right temple. (Please do not bother protesting that welts cannot scar. In my Fairy Tale welts can do anything.) Poor Girl often would run her left ring-finger along her unsightly scar while sighing softly. She especially liked to do this at the dinner table--when Prince Charming was present--just after her father, who was watching them from the head of the table, asked the servant to fetch the firearm that needed cleaning.
The servant, being Scottish, was name Lassie. Some sadistic person named her. Someone who knew she was to be a servant. I suppose they thought there were being funny. 'Til the day she died, Lasie was asked to "fetch" everything from a firearm to her master's slippers. Poor Girl's father thought he was almost as funny as the person who named her. Oh well. No one ever said that life is fair. Oh--wait--yes they did. But they're dead now. Lassie shot them with a firearm her master had just finished cleaning.
Anyway, one night after a particulary loud sigh from Poor Girl, Prince Charming took her aside and said that he would be coming to see her again the following afternoon, and that she should be waiting for him in the garden. Poor Girl happily agreed to this and bid the handsome prince goodnight. But not before Prince Charming kissed her softly and told her she was the sweetest of all womanhood. He also confessed his confusion as to what he had done to deserve her. (In Poor Girl's opinion it had been precious little, but she decided to let it slide.)
~*~*~*~*~*~coming soon~*~*~*~*~*~*~A Cynical Fairy Tale part II~*~*~*~*~
Monday, January 09, 2006
TLM: The End of Jace Buntley
Jace Buntley walked slowly back to his hotel room. That incident at the murder scene, and then later with Rosie, had done it. He decided that, however this murder mystery ended up, he was going to make amends. The time had come. Life was just too short, too unpredictable.
He was a murder dectective, and yet hardly ever thought about death. His own, at least.
But now, he did think about it. One day, he would die. What would happen to him then?
He had been Catholic, once... and that was enough to tell him the answer.
As he ascended the staircase to his 3rd floor room, he also reflected on his past life, and how awful it had been. He would find a priest, make reconciliation, and live his life anew. He was going to become a new man. And he wanted it to be with Rosie...
*******
Jace's Guardian Angel: Sir, sir, we have a situation below!
St. Peter: For my sake, what is it, Angel #36,576,001?
JGA: Jace Buntley's repented! He's experienced perfect contrition! I don't know how long this situation will last, but we have to act NOW!!!
St. Pete: What? Jace BUNTLEY? That crappy APOSTATE? Why, I can't count the number of times he took my name in vain, much less the Big Man! Are you sure it's PERFECT?
JGA: Pure as the driven snow, sir! I'd bet my wings on it! We've got to do something!
St. Pete: Angel #36,576,001, you're right! Activate Code Golden Harp 4!
JGA: Code GH4? Now we're TALKING! I'll get an Angel of Death on it right away!
******
As Jace approached his hotel room door, his senses picked up. He could tell something was amiss, but he wasn't quite sure. He paused in the hallway, uncertain.
*******
JGA: Oh, come ON, dude! Just open the door! Listen, this is your Guardian Angel talking! You know, I'm on your shoulder, whispering in your ear, listen to me, something like that? OPEN THE DOOR!
Open the door...
open the door....
open the door...
*******
Jace suddenly felt a feeling of peace and serenity, and smiled as he once more began walking towards his hotel room door. As his hand grasped the doorknob, he wondered at how warm and inviting it felt. He turned and pushed.... and.... the darkness of his room greeted him.
Hmmmm, what was that funny smell? Once again, his senses warned him...
******
JGA: Go to sleeeep, go to sleeeep, go to sleeee-eeeep dear Jacie! Light the match, light the match....
******
Jace smiled, paused, listened to a cute little birdie singing to the morning dawn out the window, smiled again, and struck a match.
KABLOOOIEEE!!!!!!
***********
Rosie cried when she heard the news.
Dr. Welch frowned and muttered.
Kevson and Niles scratched their heads and shrugged.
Davis Nolder got drunk.
Jace's Guardian angel gave Nolder's Guardian angel a high-five, and reminded him that miracles really do happen.
*******
So Scotland Yard, without the help of Jace Buntley, finally found the murderer, although perhaps not quite as quickly. The murderer's identity wasn't really that important. Several more young, beautiful, foriegn, Catholic girls got murdered, which to the world's eyes was very tragic, but in the eyes of their guardian angels was quite miraculous. They were mostly brazen hussies, Catholic in name only, and their baptism of quite a lot of blood was enough to purge their multifarious sins. They made it into purgatory.
Rosie decided to quit the detective work and became a professed single. She was too weird to join a convent.
Kevson and Niles lived okay lives, and seconds before their deaths realized the error of being Anglican. They made it to heaven, but spent a ton of time in purgatory for being careless about the Faith.
Davis Nolder, poor sap, drank himself dead and only made purgatory because of the prayers of his wife Lanney, and his dear mother. Long story.
Little Charity went to the glue factory after Nolder died. She was a horse, so she went straight to creature heaven. There is such a thing!
And finally, having experienced perfect contrition, Jace avoided hell. Due to the prayers of Rosie Tracer, and the good work he actually did perform in helping to solve brutal murders, he didn't spend too much time in purgatory. But he sure felt it when he was there.
He was a murder dectective, and yet hardly ever thought about death. His own, at least.
But now, he did think about it. One day, he would die. What would happen to him then?
He had been Catholic, once... and that was enough to tell him the answer.
As he ascended the staircase to his 3rd floor room, he also reflected on his past life, and how awful it had been. He would find a priest, make reconciliation, and live his life anew. He was going to become a new man. And he wanted it to be with Rosie...
*******
Jace's Guardian Angel: Sir, sir, we have a situation below!
St. Peter: For my sake, what is it, Angel #36,576,001?
JGA: Jace Buntley's repented! He's experienced perfect contrition! I don't know how long this situation will last, but we have to act NOW!!!
St. Pete: What? Jace BUNTLEY? That crappy APOSTATE? Why, I can't count the number of times he took my name in vain, much less the Big Man! Are you sure it's PERFECT?
JGA: Pure as the driven snow, sir! I'd bet my wings on it! We've got to do something!
St. Pete: Angel #36,576,001, you're right! Activate Code Golden Harp 4!
JGA: Code GH4? Now we're TALKING! I'll get an Angel of Death on it right away!
******
As Jace approached his hotel room door, his senses picked up. He could tell something was amiss, but he wasn't quite sure. He paused in the hallway, uncertain.
*******
JGA: Oh, come ON, dude! Just open the door! Listen, this is your Guardian Angel talking! You know, I'm on your shoulder, whispering in your ear, listen to me, something like that? OPEN THE DOOR!
Open the door...
open the door....
open the door...
*******
Jace suddenly felt a feeling of peace and serenity, and smiled as he once more began walking towards his hotel room door. As his hand grasped the doorknob, he wondered at how warm and inviting it felt. He turned and pushed.... and.... the darkness of his room greeted him.
Hmmmm, what was that funny smell? Once again, his senses warned him...
******
JGA: Go to sleeeep, go to sleeeep, go to sleeee-eeeep dear Jacie! Light the match, light the match....
******
Jace smiled, paused, listened to a cute little birdie singing to the morning dawn out the window, smiled again, and struck a match.
KABLOOOIEEE!!!!!!
***********
Rosie cried when she heard the news.
Dr. Welch frowned and muttered.
Kevson and Niles scratched their heads and shrugged.
Davis Nolder got drunk.
Jace's Guardian angel gave Nolder's Guardian angel a high-five, and reminded him that miracles really do happen.
*******
So Scotland Yard, without the help of Jace Buntley, finally found the murderer, although perhaps not quite as quickly. The murderer's identity wasn't really that important. Several more young, beautiful, foriegn, Catholic girls got murdered, which to the world's eyes was very tragic, but in the eyes of their guardian angels was quite miraculous. They were mostly brazen hussies, Catholic in name only, and their baptism of quite a lot of blood was enough to purge their multifarious sins. They made it into purgatory.
Rosie decided to quit the detective work and became a professed single. She was too weird to join a convent.
Kevson and Niles lived okay lives, and seconds before their deaths realized the error of being Anglican. They made it to heaven, but spent a ton of time in purgatory for being careless about the Faith.
Davis Nolder, poor sap, drank himself dead and only made purgatory because of the prayers of his wife Lanney, and his dear mother. Long story.
Little Charity went to the glue factory after Nolder died. She was a horse, so she went straight to creature heaven. There is such a thing!
And finally, having experienced perfect contrition, Jace avoided hell. Due to the prayers of Rosie Tracer, and the good work he actually did perform in helping to solve brutal murders, he didn't spend too much time in purgatory. But he sure felt it when he was there.
To Kevin
::lllightening bolt!::
::lllightening bolt!!!::
::Kevin disappears in a puff of smoke::
That's what you get, Kevin.
I hope you remember saying rude stuff about my blog when I'm living in Clear Creek and you miss me and you're sad I'm not around to say rude things to!!!
::throws one more lllightening bolt for good measure::
::lllightening bolt!!!::
::Kevin disappears in a puff of smoke::
That's what you get, Kevin.
I hope you remember saying rude stuff about my blog when I'm living in Clear Creek and you miss me and you're sad I'm not around to say rude things to!!!
::throws one more lllightening bolt for good measure::
Saturday, January 07, 2006
"Cooool!"
Oh, look! There's Beth in the background!
Hi Beth!!!
Aaaw, look! There's Michelle's head in the corner!
Hi Michelle!
Okay, so the point of this picture is actually Hunter's face.
I had just told him what Tom and Heather had given the family for a Christmas gift.
He really liked the thought of a five-day cruise down Mexico way.
Why am I posting this photo now instead of closer to when it was first taken? ::shrugs:: I dunno. I just found it a couple of days ago, and I realized I had forgotten to post about the awesome gift from my sister and brother-in-law.
And I just wanted to post something.
Life of Riley and a Pet Peeve
John, David, Derrick and Kevin.
Life of Riley.
Y'all did a great job tonight. It was a lot of fun hearing you guys play...somewhere other than in Abby's garage. ;)
Okay. That's all I have to say. I would say more, but my thoughts have all gone to sleep. My body should follow suit. ::eyes last sentence and wonders if that's the way 'suit' is spelled when used in that context:: I don't think there's any other way to spell it. ::shrugs:: Oh well.
Hey, Marcy--your shoes are still in my car....
Hey, Mary--my shoes are still on your feet.
Tomorrow I am going to begin packing for the move to Clear Creek. Still haven't decided on an exact date. If my family weren't going on a cruise at the end of January, setting a date would be a lot simpler. There's no way I am staying in CC by myself when they are all on a cruise to Mexico. It might turn me into...I dunno...a big ball of emotion or something. ::wonders if being a small ball of emotion is better...::
That wouldn't be good. ::laughs:: They might wish I hadn't moved up there. ::thinks about it:: Naaah. My family isn't allowed to wish things like that. And even if they did, they would just have to deal with it because I've been wanting to move there for...oh...*three years* and being told I wasn't wanted would...well. hm....
Uh oh. Uh ooooh. I did it again. I got online late at night when I should've gone to bed instead!
What should you do when someone asks a question you do not want to answer? *But* you're in a situation where you *have* to answer, or you're going to look like you're intentionally being rude?
::raises hand:: I know, I know!
Answer it half way.
Yes. Half way. Although that can leave much room for assumptions. But you know--it's funny the things people hear in silence. And it's even funnier letting their assumptions go unchecked. ::laughs to self::
Wow. I can't believe it, but that last bit of rambling could apply to three different conversations I have had in the past week or so.
Well, goodnight. It's going to be a long day tomorrow, so I'd better get my rest. Somehow I have more to move out than I had to move in...a year and a half ago.
Pax.
Life of Riley.
Y'all did a great job tonight. It was a lot of fun hearing you guys play...somewhere other than in Abby's garage. ;)
Okay. That's all I have to say. I would say more, but my thoughts have all gone to sleep. My body should follow suit. ::eyes last sentence and wonders if that's the way 'suit' is spelled when used in that context:: I don't think there's any other way to spell it. ::shrugs:: Oh well.
Hey, Marcy--your shoes are still in my car....
Hey, Mary--my shoes are still on your feet.
Tomorrow I am going to begin packing for the move to Clear Creek. Still haven't decided on an exact date. If my family weren't going on a cruise at the end of January, setting a date would be a lot simpler. There's no way I am staying in CC by myself when they are all on a cruise to Mexico. It might turn me into...I dunno...a big ball of emotion or something. ::wonders if being a small ball of emotion is better...::
That wouldn't be good. ::laughs:: They might wish I hadn't moved up there. ::thinks about it:: Naaah. My family isn't allowed to wish things like that. And even if they did, they would just have to deal with it because I've been wanting to move there for...oh...*three years* and being told I wasn't wanted would...well. hm....
Uh oh. Uh ooooh. I did it again. I got online late at night when I should've gone to bed instead!
What should you do when someone asks a question you do not want to answer? *But* you're in a situation where you *have* to answer, or you're going to look like you're intentionally being rude?
::raises hand:: I know, I know!
Answer it half way.
Yes. Half way. Although that can leave much room for assumptions. But you know--it's funny the things people hear in silence. And it's even funnier letting their assumptions go unchecked. ::laughs to self::
Wow. I can't believe it, but that last bit of rambling could apply to three different conversations I have had in the past week or so.
Well, goodnight. It's going to be a long day tomorrow, so I'd better get my rest. Somehow I have more to move out than I had to move in...a year and a half ago.
Pax.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Rebecca Jo
Okay, everybody, it's Becky's turn in the spotlight.
This is my fourth little sister.
I think she's probably the sweetest girl in the whole world.
When she was younger she looked just like a little leprechaun.
Actually...she still does. ;)
Somehow she ended up with more Irish in her than the rest of us did...with the exception of John. He's got the red hair too. And the temper. And...::laughs::...what is it they say, Mr. Briody? Something about blarney?? ;)
Hi Becky!
This is my fourth little sister.
I think she's probably the sweetest girl in the whole world.
When she was younger she looked just like a little leprechaun.
Actually...she still does. ;)
Somehow she ended up with more Irish in her than the rest of us did...with the exception of John. He's got the red hair too. And the temper. And...::laughs::...what is it they say, Mr. Briody? Something about blarney?? ;)
Hi Becky!
"So Happy, Mr. Bradley."
Does anyone know where the above written quote comes from?
(Restless, don't give the answer away. I know you know it.)
::smiles::
(Restless, don't give the answer away. I know you know it.)
::smiles::
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Seemed Logical to Me
On January 1st I wondered what January 2nd would bring. I asked in partial jest, but--ironically--it was just as interesting as the day before.
Being in a hospital waiting room late at night (or early in the morning--whichever way you want to look at it) can be very boring. For some odd reason, all of the girls were hanging out in the Annonying Waiting Room. The room which wasn't really a room at all, just the area that had a grouping of chairs before there was a hallway. The *cool* waiting room was just a few feet from this Annoying Area, but the girls didn't want to go hang out in the cool room with the vending machines, the coffee, the couches, and the TV. No, no. They wanted to stay in AA with the ugly Christmas tree that was in need of some *serious* redecoration. ::sigh:: And I didn't want to go hang out in the cool room without somebody else, so I didn't...at first. Then April decided the cool room was preferable to the AA, so we went to watch TV on the cool couches. But it didn't last long because Landon came out to tell us how Mandy was doing, and *he* sat in the Annoying Area. So we moved back. And I hated that Christmas tree.
Actually--I really didn't notice the tree at first. Not until Melissa brought it to my attention. "Look at what a terrible job they did decorating that thing!" she said. And they had. It looked terrible. There were red glass balls, gold glass balls, and white Christmas trees, and sparkly icicles. Oh. And bows. And they were all bunched out in odd groups. "We should redecorate it," Melissa said. But, yeah right! Like *any*one would redecorate a most-likely-staff-decorated Christmas tree when the staff is sitting like 20 feet from the tree. So we didn't redecorate it.
Then.
We didn't redecorate it *then*.
You see--being up at 4:30 in the morning, in a hospital, waiting for a new baby cousin, and only having had 4 and half hours of sleep the night before, especially when it was New Year's Eve, and also being at Girls' Nite the night before *that*, and then having coffee, and Pepsi, and something weird to eat from a hospital vending machine, and *THEN* laying on a couch staring at a poorly decorated Christmas tree 20 feet in front ot you...well---it makes you suddenly jump up and tell Melissa to 'come on! I can't stand it anymore!'
I don't think Melissa thought I was serious at first. But I was. Hello. I was *bored*. And I couldn't sleep. Anyway, she quickly realized I was serious, and she came and helped. But after a few minutes a nurse walked past, and it scared Melissa, so she went and sat back down. ::sigh:: I had to finish decorating the poor thing myself. ::laughs:: At one point a nurse walked by and I was holding a Christmas ball in each hand. I was wearing a jacket, so I quickly stuck my hands into my pockets and casually walked away. ::shakes head:: Oooh, goodness. It was funny. Anyway, I finished it a few minutes later. And I only had to hide once or twice more. But you know...surely the nurses wouldn't *really* have minded. I mean--I'll bet they were *happy* someone cared enough to make their tree look beautiful!
I didn't end up getting to sleep until 1:30 on Monday afternoon. I was a little tired by then. Cathy was very nice and gave me the day off of work. I meant to wake up at 5:00, but I slept through my alarm, and didn't wake up until 8:30.
I feel so thrown off schedule. I feel like today is Tuesday. I guess because I never slept Sunday night. It's a very odd feeling being up for 30 hours straight. I haven't done that since I went to Europe when I was 15. ::laughs::
Again. I'm still tired from the long weekend. And I think I'm rambling. I have stuff to do. Goodbye.
Being in a hospital waiting room late at night (or early in the morning--whichever way you want to look at it) can be very boring. For some odd reason, all of the girls were hanging out in the Annonying Waiting Room. The room which wasn't really a room at all, just the area that had a grouping of chairs before there was a hallway. The *cool* waiting room was just a few feet from this Annoying Area, but the girls didn't want to go hang out in the cool room with the vending machines, the coffee, the couches, and the TV. No, no. They wanted to stay in AA with the ugly Christmas tree that was in need of some *serious* redecoration. ::sigh:: And I didn't want to go hang out in the cool room without somebody else, so I didn't...at first. Then April decided the cool room was preferable to the AA, so we went to watch TV on the cool couches. But it didn't last long because Landon came out to tell us how Mandy was doing, and *he* sat in the Annoying Area. So we moved back. And I hated that Christmas tree.
Actually--I really didn't notice the tree at first. Not until Melissa brought it to my attention. "Look at what a terrible job they did decorating that thing!" she said. And they had. It looked terrible. There were red glass balls, gold glass balls, and white Christmas trees, and sparkly icicles. Oh. And bows. And they were all bunched out in odd groups. "We should redecorate it," Melissa said. But, yeah right! Like *any*one would redecorate a most-likely-staff-decorated Christmas tree when the staff is sitting like 20 feet from the tree. So we didn't redecorate it.
Then.
We didn't redecorate it *then*.
You see--being up at 4:30 in the morning, in a hospital, waiting for a new baby cousin, and only having had 4 and half hours of sleep the night before, especially when it was New Year's Eve, and also being at Girls' Nite the night before *that*, and then having coffee, and Pepsi, and something weird to eat from a hospital vending machine, and *THEN* laying on a couch staring at a poorly decorated Christmas tree 20 feet in front ot you...well---it makes you suddenly jump up and tell Melissa to 'come on! I can't stand it anymore!'
I don't think Melissa thought I was serious at first. But I was. Hello. I was *bored*. And I couldn't sleep. Anyway, she quickly realized I was serious, and she came and helped. But after a few minutes a nurse walked past, and it scared Melissa, so she went and sat back down. ::sigh:: I had to finish decorating the poor thing myself. ::laughs:: At one point a nurse walked by and I was holding a Christmas ball in each hand. I was wearing a jacket, so I quickly stuck my hands into my pockets and casually walked away. ::shakes head:: Oooh, goodness. It was funny. Anyway, I finished it a few minutes later. And I only had to hide once or twice more. But you know...surely the nurses wouldn't *really* have minded. I mean--I'll bet they were *happy* someone cared enough to make their tree look beautiful!
I didn't end up getting to sleep until 1:30 on Monday afternoon. I was a little tired by then. Cathy was very nice and gave me the day off of work. I meant to wake up at 5:00, but I slept through my alarm, and didn't wake up until 8:30.
I feel so thrown off schedule. I feel like today is Tuesday. I guess because I never slept Sunday night. It's a very odd feeling being up for 30 hours straight. I haven't done that since I went to Europe when I was 15. ::laughs::
Again. I'm still tired from the long weekend. And I think I'm rambling. I have stuff to do. Goodbye.
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
"No, No. It's This Way."
I learned something very important on January 1st.
I learned how to properly shake a man's hand.
Don't laugh! I did. Learn, I mean.
April and Robby had a few people over to play (IMHO, this really boring board game called...) Rail Baron on Sunday evening. Kelly, Micah, April and Robby think this game is great, so they were the ones that played, while Marcy and I alternated between watching them, watching TV, and watching each other.
At one point I got bored and went over to the kitchen table to watch them play. I arrived just in time to hear Kelly (who was behaving hilariously that night) ask Robby something about the way a girl should shake a man's hand. So Robby, being a man, told Kelly what impressed him about a female's handshake. Micah concurred with him. So there were handshakes all around as Robby and Micah showed the three of us (Marcy, Kelly and I...I don't know if April got her lesson or not--I think she was doing something at the kitchen sink) how exactly to shake a man's hand. It was very informative---very appreciated---and it struck me as very funny. As Robby was shaking Marcy's hand (I think), I started laughing and proclaimed that I was "so going to blog this." I mean, how random was it?? Handshaking lessons? Seriously given and seriously taken? ::laughs:: Thanks to Kelly for even thinking of it.
I learned how to properly shake a man's hand.
Don't laugh! I did. Learn, I mean.
April and Robby had a few people over to play (IMHO, this really boring board game called...) Rail Baron on Sunday evening. Kelly, Micah, April and Robby think this game is great, so they were the ones that played, while Marcy and I alternated between watching them, watching TV, and watching each other.
At one point I got bored and went over to the kitchen table to watch them play. I arrived just in time to hear Kelly (who was behaving hilariously that night) ask Robby something about the way a girl should shake a man's hand. So Robby, being a man, told Kelly what impressed him about a female's handshake. Micah concurred with him. So there were handshakes all around as Robby and Micah showed the three of us (Marcy, Kelly and I...I don't know if April got her lesson or not--I think she was doing something at the kitchen sink) how exactly to shake a man's hand. It was very informative---very appreciated---and it struck me as very funny. As Robby was shaking Marcy's hand (I think), I started laughing and proclaimed that I was "so going to blog this." I mean, how random was it?? Handshaking lessons? Seriously given and seriously taken? ::laughs:: Thanks to Kelly for even thinking of it.
Baby Emma
I keep having things happen to me that make me say, "I'm going to blog this!" But I haven't had the time to write them yet. I will. Soon. Because I think they are funny.
But for now, I just wanted to inform y'all that Warrick, Huston, Dalton and Madilynn have a new baby sister. Emma was born Monday morning, January 2, a little before 6:00am.
Crystal, Melanie, Melissa, April, Marcy, Mary, Kelly, Nancy, Theresa and I had a party all night in the hospital waiting area, waiting for Emma to show up. We got up to the hospital around 1:45am, and didn't leave until 7:oo. It was so much fun! Good news is we get to do it again at least twice this year, and maybe three...depending on where Crystal has the baby.
Oh, anyway--Emma is 7lbs 7oz, and she is 19 1/2 in long. She is very cute. She looks just like her brother Huston. Both baby and mom are doing well. Um...if there's anything else to tell you about it, it's going to have to wait. I'm going to Critterdome now.
But for now, I just wanted to inform y'all that Warrick, Huston, Dalton and Madilynn have a new baby sister. Emma was born Monday morning, January 2, a little before 6:00am.
Crystal, Melanie, Melissa, April, Marcy, Mary, Kelly, Nancy, Theresa and I had a party all night in the hospital waiting area, waiting for Emma to show up. We got up to the hospital around 1:45am, and didn't leave until 7:oo. It was so much fun! Good news is we get to do it again at least twice this year, and maybe three...depending on where Crystal has the baby.
Oh, anyway--Emma is 7lbs 7oz, and she is 19 1/2 in long. She is very cute. She looks just like her brother Huston. Both baby and mom are doing well. Um...if there's anything else to tell you about it, it's going to have to wait. I'm going to Critterdome now.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Happy Birthday, Kelly!
My cousin Jessica.
Her boyfriend, Nik.
My sister Kelly.
Somewhere around midnight, New Year's Eve.
Just after midnight, after the champagne toast to the new year, we sang 'Happy Birthday' to Kelly, then we toasted her.
::laughs:: I mean, we toasted *to* her...or...I don't know! Something like that. ;) Anyway, the toast to Kelly was louder than the toast to the new year. ...Maybe because you can't embarrass a new year, but you can embarrass a Kelly.
Happy birthday, Kelly. ;)
The New Year Tradition
Marcy Chris TracyJust after midnight~Jan. 1, 2006
Chris was being a typical 15 year old cousin-in-law and he refused to kiss our cheeks. ::laughs:: So we kissed him instead.
And don't bother protesting that there is no such thing as a 'cousin-in-law'. Maybe not in the *secular* world, but we Catholics know better.
2006
Wow. I didn't expect such quick results in regard to the Interesting and Amusing Quota for this year.
Well--at least I'm not bored...whatever else may be said of it.
::ponders life--especially the first day of 2006:: Well, good grief. If today is like this, what will tomorrow be like? ::laughs:: Ooookay, God--Okay. ::glances up at the sky:: Here I am. Come and get me! ::giggles::
Well--at least I'm not bored...whatever else may be said of it.
::ponders life--especially the first day of 2006:: Well, good grief. If today is like this, what will tomorrow be like? ::laughs:: Ooookay, God--Okay. ::glances up at the sky:: Here I am. Come and get me! ::giggles::
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