Wednesday, August 31, 2011


I am eagerly awaiting fall....

Tuesday, August 30, 2011


So yeah. I know I've not been a very good blogger lately. And I can't even say that I am going to try and do better, because every time I do, I don't.

There is a quote in Julius Caesar that goes something like this: "...Not that I love Caesar less, but that I loved Rome more." What I'm saying is this, I don't dislike working on my blog. Au contraire. I love working on m blog, I just love doing other stuff more.

If you check my blog blog every day, I apologize.

Lots of times I think about blog posts to do, I just never actually do then. I know: it's not the thought that counts. And very often, the stuff I think about writing, I don't for a reason, so really, very often I just don't have anything to say. I hope you got what I was trying to say.

I know I said I wouldn't say this, but I think I am going to try and be a bit better.


Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Lone Tree

I took this picture in Michigan. The little white specs are drops of rain on the van window.


Have I Found Shire?

I took these pictures in Ohio this July. It was around 4:00 and the lighting was absolutely perfect.

I wish I could have taken more pictures, but I am happy with the ones I have.


Thursday, August 11, 2011


I dunno. Just "hey," I guess. I felt like doing something;writing to someone.

The little fan is on my floor, blowing on me. It reminds me of the summer nights in Cali, we didn't have AC. I'm listening to "Shut Your Eyes" by Snow Patrol...for the third time. I love that song. "Shut your eyes and think of somewhere, somewhere cold and caked with snow." I love that line; I find the cold extremely restful (hence the little fan). Whenever it is crowded, I wish that I was someplace silent and cold. For me, "crowded" can mean there are two other people in the house, not always, but sometimes. I am an introvert. If you know me any at all (I'm playing the song again) you know that I am an introvert. Even if you don't know what an introvert is. I am very shy, and for that reason alone, I am not big on being around lots of people. But being around most people just makes me completely exhausted. I find social gatherings stressful. Especially if something is not going smoothly. The tiniest conflict, of any kind, I cannot stand, if there are people around. (I'm playing the song again.) That is why I like being alone; nothing can go wrong. And if it does, it is really ok. Life can seem so very bad at times. That was random, sorry. Don't get me wrong, here. The people I enjoy being with, I really, really, really enjoy being with. The most awesome times I've ever had, I've been with people. But I do delight in the tranquility (wow, I spelled that right first try ) of solitude.

The song ended. I'd love to stay and talk to you, but I think I'd better go.

Thanks for listening.

The Core

Sometimes I wonder if I will never be a good writer.

See, I have come to realize that part of being a good writer has a great deal to do with what is inside the person, their thoughts and their feelings. One of my favorite writers has a truly unique and wonderful way of seeing things, in himself and in the world around him. I very often think how much I would like to write like him, but then I think to myself, I will never be able to think like him, how could I even hope to write like him?

I do understand that it is not wholly the thoughts that make the writing, but still, so often I will read something and think, I can't even think of stuff like this, how could I ever write it?

I have many, many thoughts that I could write, but I am afraid they would be rather dark, and I would not like to depress my reader. I very often think of pleasant things to write, but I almost always think of them when I am brushing my teeth, or lying in bed at night, or any time I do not have access to a computer, or even paper.

I also wonder if I write about myself too much. I hardly ever talk about myself, which means I have a lot to say, so I write it. I mean, a person should write about something they know, I am pretty much all I know about. If you are sick of hearing talk about myself, I'm sorry. But trust me, at least I know what I am talking about and not muddling my way through something I really don't understand.

And then there is the trouble of thinking of a conclusion...

Wednesday, August 10, 2011


Lightning is dangerous. Fact.

I don't know where I learned it, for it seems that I am always around people who are completely oblivious to it. But lighting is dangerous, and the winds that often accompany it are destructive. For this reason, I don't like storms. I never have. From the Santa Annas in Southern California, to the tornadoes in the South.

When I was a small child, and even a not so small child, growing up in Southern California, the Santa Anna wind storms were among my greatest fears (Next to the dark). They were terrifying, especially to a little kid. But I am sure I wouldn't be any less afraid of them today. When I was two, after a rain storm, a Santa Anna came by and blew a giant pine tree onto our roof. No one was hurt, but I was two, and I remember it to this day. So, I've never liked wind. I am very fond of breeze, but there comes a point when the wind gets too strong, and I don't like it. If I'm outside, I get very tense, and I come inside. And even then I am a little uneasy.

In the South, there are no winds like the Santa Annas, but there are tornadoes, which are far worse. We have been, extremely, extremely blessed to not have had any come close to us, but they are still a possibility. One that is ever looming.

So, I've told you some of what I think about storms. By now, you may think that I hate everything about storms. Well, you'd be partly true.

There is one thing I like about storms, thunderstorms, in particular: The air. There is nothing like the air before a thunderstorm, nothing. It is the absolute coolest feeling in the world. Fact. Okay, opinion. But still! It is amazing. Truly amazing. It implies impending danger, ergo, it has a downside. But perhaps the impending danger is part of what makes it so awesome. It has been a while since we've had a thunderstorm, so I dare not even attempt to describe it. But I am sure I don't have to. For you, gentle reader, have no doubt felt the air before a storm at some time or another.

It's a glorious thing.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011


Once, when I was a little kid (I don't know how old), my family and I were invited over to somebody's house for diner. All of the adults were sitting outside and all the kids were hanging out inside (Just asking for disaster, right?).

Well, as I recall it, one of the little boys (Who I never liked, by the way) stole a little bag of toys from one of the little girls (Who was a sort of friend of mine) and ran off. I think one of the kids might have said something about telling a gown up, but it was a very long time ago so I don't remember that well. But I, without a moments thought, ran after him, pushed him down, and gave the little bag back to the girl.

I got in trouble.

Now you must understand, this was before I ever knew about Spider-man or Batman. I was acting purely on what I thought was right, not following what I'd seen someone else do. I didn't do it because I just wanted to push that little boy over, and I didn't do just because the girl was a friend of mine, I did it because he had taken something that wasn't his, and it should be returned to its rightful owner.

Vigilante. I didn't even know the word at that time, but that is exactly what I was. I took the law into my own little hands, so to speak. And for that, I go in trouble. I had to sit outside with the grown ups for the rest of the evening. It was humiliating.

I wouldn't do anything like that now days, at least, I hope not. But I admire that little kid. I admire her, because she did the same thing the superheroes I look up to do: catch thieves. Because she didn't hesitate to restore stolen property. Yes, I know I was wrong to take the matter into my own hands, I should have just waited for an adult to come and take care of things. But I am glad to know that even at a young age, I had a strong sense of justice, albeit a tad twisted, it was strong.

* * *

I was recently in a group that was asked the question, which would you prefer: harmony or justice. That is kinda a trick question. I mean, is it true justice or false justice? True harmony or false harmony. I once heard a quote: "Where there are peacekeepers, there is no peace." There could be the appearance of harmony, but underneath, is anyone happy? But anyhow, I instantly, without a moments thought, chose justice. Because where there is true justice, there will be true harmony.


Monday, August 8, 2011


Have you ever seen the eyes of someone who would not to an unkind deed to save his life? They say that the eyes are windows to the soul. I believe this, in part. For if a person it truly kind and loving, it shines through their eyes like the morning sun.
Have you ever seen the eyes of someone who would not to an unkind deed to save his life?
It is a beautiful thing.


I have no recollection of taking this photo, so when I saw it in my folder, it was like seeing it for the first time. And, in all humility, I can't get over it.


Friday, August 5, 2011


There is someone behind me. I know it. I try hard to not look over my shoulder and keep waking. Silently, silently walking. Then I stop. There is also someone around the corner. And inside that doorway. That dark, dark doorway. There is no telling what bad things might be in that room. I take a deep breath and try not to think about it. They are all around me, shrouded in the darkness. I reach around the corner and turn on the light. No one.

I am afraid of the dark. I always have been. I far less afraid now than I was. But I still am afraid of it, or rather all the things that I fear may be in it. It's weird, I know the things I am afraid of don't exist, and if they did/do, they wouldn't be here. But I still get frightened.

It's broad daylight right now. And that is making this post rather hard to right. See, I really don't think about the dark until it is nighttime. Right now, I am wondering if I actually am afraid of the dark. I mean, I know I am. It is just seems odd when it is so light.

At night when I am lying in bed, everything is so different than it is during the day. If you turn on the lights, yes, it is all the same stuff that is always there. But it the dark, you can't tell what is there and what isn't. It seems like in the dark, all the sad things gather. Maybe it is just me, but I have an extremely hard time thinking of happy things at night. Maybe it is just that I am tired, but I know the dark doesn't help any.

Sometime, if I ever had access to a computer at night, I could do a very good post on being afraid of the dark, but until then, this will have to do.


Thursday, August 4, 2011

Don't Blink

It all is going by so fast. Life. It's like the fast-forward button is stuck. I can't get over it, how time seems like a big rock rolling down a hill, gaining speed as it goes. Time does fly when you are having fun. It flies the other times, too, it just doesn't seem like it.

I don't know what changed, but it really does seem like time is going faster than it used too. It scares me. I want to grab hold of something and slow down, but I can't: everything else is flying through time just as fast as I am. It's terrifying.

This year is going so quickly. It seems like just not to long ago I was writing in my 2011 journal for the very first time, and now all the pages say "August" so plainly across the top. Where did it go?

Blink and it's gone. And then I find myself wondering:

Did it even happen?

The last two weeks of July was some of the nicest and most awesome times I've ever had, but they went so fast. It was heartbreaking. It made me realize how fast everything else is going. Now time going fast is not all bad, it does have its good sides, but for the most part, it just makes me sad.

"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened." ~ Dr.

Wednesday, August 3, 2011

Rise Above

Why do we want heroes?

My mother asks this sometimes. I don't know what the one true answer is. But I do have my own ideas.

One reason is that we need heroes (Fact). We do have the one ultimate Savior who died for us. He is the greatest hero that ever lived, for without Him, our lives would be futile and lost. There are other heroes, though. Firefighters and doctors who daily save lives. The men and women who fight and have fought for our safety and freedom. All of these heroes are real, but there are many heroes who are fictional. They too have a purpose.

To inspire us.

At least that is the conclusion I cam to. A hero is someone who is more. Who is more than an ordinary person. Who has gone above and beyond and done what they know they must. A hero may be strong. He uses his strength to help the weak and defenseless. But a hero is not always strong. No, some of the greatest do not have abnormal physical abilities. Their strength comes from the heart. From courage and from love, and that is what drives them onward.

I said their purpose was to inspire us. Inspire us to do what? To be more. To be more than ourselves. To go above and beyond to do what we know we must. To use our strength to help those less fortunate. To be driven onward by courage and love.

I believe that we look up to heroes because they are how we wish we were: more than an ordinary person. I believe that we like heroes because they show us that we can be more.

Heroes, of all kinds, show us the great good that can come from doing whatever is in our power to do to help others. And that, my friend, is why I believe we need heroes.

Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Looking In

The snow is covering my boots, it is above my ankles now. But my feet aren't cold; my boots are thick. I can see my breath in the dim light coming form the nearby tavern. It's starting to snow again. It is cold and dark, but not in a gloomy way. It is silent and utterly serene. I close my eyes and feel the beauty that is all around me.

A sound breaks the silence. Laughter. Merry laughter form the tavern. I move closer and stand by the window. They have a great fire blazing inside. The light shines out the window and makes the snow by my feet glow orange. I can hear them all laughing and talking, and I can almost smell the warm food cooking in the giant oven.

I shiver in the cold and pull my cloak tightly around me. There is a hot fire inside the tavern, but it is so peaceful outside. I just stand by the window. I steal another glance in. I see a familiar face in the crowd. He looks up and sees me. I smile broadly, he grins and halfheartedly gestures for me to come in and then turns back to the lively conversation. I could go in. It would be nice inside. But I wouldn't get to watch the snow falling. I wish with all my heart that he would come out into the night so we could talk a bit. I know he would like the clean fresh night air much better than the stuffy air in the tavern. I look back in the window. No, he is to happy in the crowd to come out and watch the snow fall with me.

It would be nice in the tavern. I'll I'd have to do is go around, open the door, and walk in. It's a nice thought, but I know that if I did go in, I would miss the snowy night. I look back at my friend and see him laugh at something someone said. They are having such a grand time, I think. I think about going in. But I know deep down that I never could; my heart would stay outside in the clear night and going inside would only make me sad.

I smile at the snowflakes that are melting on my nose and walk slowly off into the darkness.

Monday, August 1, 2011


I hate writing. Writing is like dancing: it is a lot more fun when you are good at it.

I am, beyond doubt, better at writing than I was, but I still can't get over how unskilled I am. I've always wanted to be a good writer, but every time I think I might be getting good at it, I read something beautiful and wonderful, and I realize that I am not that great.

Very often, when I tell people I am an artist and that I love to paint and draw, they say something like "I couldn't draw to save my life," or "I couldn't even draw a stick person," or "I couldn't draw a circle with a compass." And every time I hear something like that, I always think something along the lines of "Well, you never draw, so of course you aren't good at it. If you'd only do it a bit more, you'd probably get better." I never actually say that, of course.

Then the other day I was thinking, I don't write that often because I am not good at it. Then I though, wait, maybe, I am not good at writing, because I don't do it that often.

What I am getting to is this: I am determined to write more so that maybe someday I might be good at it.

So bear with me.