this world is not so brave

The distance of our bodies
Does not equal the distance of our souls.

With heavy thoughts our hearts not sparing
We give light and cheery smiles
To break ice but never melt it

What is it that meets there, in your eyes?
I think it pain and longing
But white teeth bare much less trouble

So please administer your soma
And I’ll give mine to you-
A reminder that this world is not so brave.



**NOTE: the fact that this picture includes Brian does not imply this is about him, in fact, he is probably the only person in my life that this poem does not apply to at all. I just am trying to include some of my pictures on here as they fit with the mood.**

Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms

Cat and Josh


Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sun-flower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.
~Thomas Moore

"Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised"-Prov 31:30

shallow death

A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow. ~Charlotte Brontë


it's not insomnia, no no. something...softer, more muted and less painful.
sleep confounds me with the way it addicts, and yet right now, it eludes me. maybe my body has revolted. maybe this is me saying in a vindictive whisper, "you don't own me".

difficult occurence, it is, because always I want it, always I love it, and always I am so happy to get it. Yet, somehow it upsets me that I need it. What a waste of precious hours.

So if I had all those hours back, what would I do?
My favorite thought: (...besides living out nonsensical dreams...)

just run around places at night, at the MIDDLE of it- When no one else is around, and you have large empty places with yellow and green lighting all to yourself.
I love large empty places that you know will be bustling, or were bustling, at a different time.
civilization at a pause, it seems- as if all the characters in a movie were removed from the plot to soon be rewritten, but the set still remains, and you are left there to enjoy the in-between of stories.

sleep is almost like a shallow death to me... where do you go? Once in a world with others, it lets you be alone.
actually, it's kinda the same as when you don't sleep.

so I never cease to amaze myself with my apathy, my distant complacence, and overall disobedience when it comes to following God...because I want to, you see, that isn't an issue. But are my actions in line with my supposed desires?
To the world, I've been the same. To the world, I'm plently of things. In my heart, I've just been a child, as if I've regressed in my spiritual life. This isn't like being a Matt 18:3 child, this is more like the child who cries about nothing at all...who cries about a cut not because it hurts, but because they saw blood come out, and decides that blood warrants crying regardless of pain.

I took this picture in a Barber shop, and the little kid didn't know what was going on, but was sure pitching a fit. I know that haircuts don't hurt, so was he crying because he was unsure, or afraid? His parents were right next to him...why was he afraid? I don't understand kids sometimes.
I'm sure God feels the same way. What is it that so easily draws them away from Me? Why must they whine about nothing at all?

I haven't really been crying about petty things lately, or even doing "bad" things. I've never really done "bad" things. Maybe that's my problem. I get into routine, into school, into work, into life, and forget about LIFE, and the source therein, and why I NEED HIM.
The world slowly starts taking over, but not in a drastic immoral way, because that is much to conspicuous.
God is always on my mind, but not always in my heart, and I often do things for Him, but rarely with Him.

In fact, I have stopped doing things I love all together. Music, poetry, reading, writing, and God have all just become distant shadows of who I am "inside"...this enigmatic essence that used to makeup me. I want it back. I've spent more time with rats lately than I've spent in the word, and that's when you know priorities are a little out of whack.
(The whole rat thing is because of my research, I'm not like some freaky rat-lover...haha the thought makes me laugh...kinda like those old cat ladies who take in every stray they find and their house becomes something of a cat brothel with pee stains everywhere and cardboard boxes strewn about the yard. Ok, this digression has gone too far.)

Anyway, I'm quite transparent when you know me. I haven't written...REALLY written, in a a few months, and that means I haven't taken much time for introspection, which subsequently means I haven't spent much time with the Lord. Always a bad sign. I'm giving Him my leftovers, and these days I don't have anything but crumbs left on the table.
So I'm starting to rebuild me (secondary goal), by rebuilding my relationship with Him. That's what has been going on these past couple silent months.

One of the most humbling verses:
" 'What a weariness this is,' you say, and you sniff at me, says the Lord. You bring what has been taken by violence or is lame or sick, and this you bring as your offering! Shall I accept that from your hand? says the Lord." Malachi 1:13

p.s. this is maybe one of my favorite pictures that I have taken...ever.

apologies!

So according to comments, I've left the four people that read this a bit wanting lately. sorry y'all! I hate to post when all I have time to talk about is the fact that I have no time to talk about anything...in fact, no time to comtemplate, write, sleep, eat, breathe or other necessary parts of living. Between 17 hours of coursework (3 of them graduate-level), what amounts to a part-time job in the lab, an undergraduate thesis, 15 hrs/week at Sweet Eugene's house of Java, and a DESPERATE attempt to enjoy senior year in the social realm a bit, I have pretty much lost my "mind-time". (Note: don't read that as I have lost my mind... although maybe you could read it as such and get the right idea... I don't even know anymore.)
Unfortunately I have thought it through, and something has to go. I am afraid the activity that must decrease is not only my favorite, but also the only one that is actually making me some money instead of taking it from me. It isn't essential that I work seeing as I am particularly blessed (a.k.a. spoiled) in the parental finance department, but I can't stand not trying to help out a bit. At least I can pay for bills by myself, since they pay for everything else. Being a barista is probably one of the greatest things I've done in the past few years, and I always look forward to work, so I couldn't wholly quit. Maybe I will just ask to go down to 10 hrs/week.


See, look how boring I am right now. You don't want to hear from me! I'll figure it all out in good time, and maybe think a little bit sometime in the near future.

For now, I'll just leave you with a picture I took back when I had a couple hours of free time.

this = my life

a bit disorderly with far too many compartments.

(don't worry, I still enjoy it.)

slam

So every sunday night there is open poetry in downtown Bryan at a little place called Revolution's. I have gone twice now, and have to say it is the neatest thing I've found here. Revolutions is quite hippie, and the poets are inspiring and often angst-ridden. I'm not very angst-ridden, but going there does make me want to write again. The angst isn't exactly what inspires me, but their passion does. I wrote this the other night after the poetry slam.



I don't know if I can show this, but what's inside insists I grow this
see poetry sometimes if flows but sits and stutters as is stops beneath my nose
and yet it's seething, no one knows this
but when I see what's left in me I wanna show this
to he who watches me and wonders:
is she bleeding deep beneath that placid core?

you see the struggle lies within though I feel it's not for you to break or bend
because these trifles that I tickle with my mind just will not mend
if left alone

but see they're small the things I think on
and maybe all the time I can't go wrong with leaving them to dissipate away

but I want to participate in action and react to any passion
that arises as my thoughts await the day
for anticipation of revolution however small deserves some resolution
even if it just stumbles out through fumbling words you say.

summertime

...and the livin's easy


Short weeks of blissful langour unhindered by deadlines, and unencumbered by dates or hours. That has been my summer, and though it will soon change form with the approaching blocks of time cut out for work and school, I plan on keeping the breeze about me- that breeze in my step that only summer brings. The ease is what I love.
I've had freedom to take pictures, have long conversations, watch countless movies, read a little, sit and listen to music, dance around my room to music, and just experience life in its daily form with the one I love-all of this with no raincloud lingering overhead, waiting to end the fun and holding me captive with a tight squeeze of responsibility. During the school year, there is always something I should be working on, and I have found that it is difficult for me to compartmentalize work and fun, because the work overwhelms. Even when I have fun, no matter how deep I bury it, there is part of me thinking about the fact that I have plenty to be doing, or that I will be doing, or that I should have been doing already. Horrible bondage. Perhaps if I take the ease of summer into my schooling in the next 10 weeks, I will learn to carry it over into the year.

plans:
10 hours of summer school (genetics+lab, polysci (puke), abnormal psych)
working at Sweet Eugene's
working in the lab- starting thesis research
hopefully taking various roadtrips

I took this of lovely Nicole (my roomate) on her birthday. I love this picture- for the color and the composition...but mostly for the feeling. Those, to me, are the best sorts of pictures. Ones that speak to you on a level deeper than your eyes. I like pictures that invoke a feeling or an emotion, or just capture it in its moment of existence, however fleeting. I enjoy photos that make you stop, pause a second, and look at a snippet of life a little closer. I appreciate the purely aesthetic photos too-photos that make you see ordinary life and commonplace objects in an artful manner. I always prefer art over crisp documentation.
That is the beauty found in photography. Not so much what is does for other people, but what is does for the photographer. Maybe it is a selfish art- but then maybe all art is selfish in some respects. The eyes of a photographer can see objects, places, and moments in ways that no one else can. Whatever the viewer gains from the photo may be similar, seeing that viewing other photos always gives me inspiration, but it is always a graded, secondary response.
I remember back when I was in my photography class, ALL I saw was framed in pictures. Driving home on 21, everything around me was a landscape worth saving, and it was all I could do not to sweep my eyes along the scenery instead of fixing them on the road. (Mom, don't worry- I am past that phase.) I haven't had a chance to take pictures for the sake of mere art lately, and I think some of that has faded in me a bit (along with all my other creativity). My love for it is still there, and hopefully I will reignite it over the summer. I will stifle its effects while driving, though.

a view from the bridge (a.k.a engagement site) near Lamar street- I took it the first time we went there.


So. I am engaged...ENGAGED!!! It still feels a bit unreal to me, but in a great, wonderful, awesome way. I have been floating for a over a week now. Most people get to spend lots of time with their fiance after the engagement, but sadly that wasn't the case. A short weekend where he had to work half the day on saturday just doesn't cut it, and I think that is why I have a hard time believing something this great just happened- but then the sunlight reflects off that new piece of jewelry and temporarily blinds me. That usually serves as a good pinch letting me know it's not, in fact, a dream.
Fun Fact: Fiancee (with an accent on the first 'e') is the feminine form, while fiance is the masculine. Most people just interchange the spellings at random. They both come from the french word to betroth, which comes from the Latin word meaning to trust. To trust. I like that.
It is kind of different adjusting to calling him my fiance and not my boyfriend. It generally comes out something like "biance", and people wonder whether the lead singer of Destiny's child and I are buddies.
Things you should know: The wedding date we have set is 07/07/07. (whoop!) Don't laugh. You are just jealous that you didn't get it first. Our wedding will be awesome, and casual. I don't plan on wearing shoes. (My mom might have something to say about that.)

I have told this story over 8,000 times this week, but I figure this is a good place to explain it in slightly more detail. I generally give people the 30 second rundown, and they miss some fun details:

On Friday, April 14th (2006...obviously), Brian and I met in Austin to go on a date. We do Austin dates periodically when I am not able to stay the weekend in San Antonio, and he isn't able to come to College Station. The plan this time, however, was to go back to San Antonio for easter weekend. Anyway, so we met, hugged each other for probably 10 minutes without stopping, and then ate a wonderful dinner at one of our favorite places (Magnolia Cafe). I had noticed that he was acting a little different from normal, but I couldn't pin down exactly what it was. It wasn't better or worse, just different. When told him he was acting funny, he said, "yeah, I have been getting more exercise and drinking lots of water lately. I think that must be it." And herein lies the brilliance of Brian: he can pull off silly answers like that because he is just that random. So I was like, sure, whatever. (I have since pinpointed the Brian I saw that night- it was "incredibly nervous inside but trying everything in my power to not seem that way" Brian.)
After dinner we went out to a Lamar Street bridge over town lake (a place we had been on a previous date- and it is a pedestrian bridge, so don't worry, there weren't cars whizzing by). It was a beautiful night, with a full yellow moon slung low over the water, and just enough breeze to need his arms around me.
There was one complication though: the bridge, normally empty, was TEEMING with people. I still have no idea what they were doing. The other times we have been out there, it was empty except for the occasional late-night biker. He was pretty frustrated at the people, and so we just walked up and down the bridge a couple of times before settling at the end, where we had plenty of privacy. I had suggested we just go somewhere else, but that clearly wasn't an option in his mind. Eventually the people dissipated, and I just layed on the ground with my head in his lap, looking out over the water. We were pretty quiet and comfortable, both understanding how much the other enjoyed just resting there and being close. (We never take time with each other for granted, even after more than 1.5 years together. We soak up every second, and relish them all. This is how we plan for it to be for the rest of our lives.)
He then reminded me that he had a surprise, which ended up being the journal we write back and forth to each other in. I was excited to read it, because it had been a while since he had written.
He asked me to read out loud, and when I started I promised myself I wouldn't cry. My reasoning was that if this wasn't the proposal, I would feel like an idiot. Anyway, as I read it became more and more apparent that it was exactly what I had suspected deep down, and after I started crying, I looked up to see him eye to eye, on one knee. He then created in me a feeling I have never known before, as he slipped on the ring and asked me to marry him. It was the best moment of my life, and will remain so until the day I marry him. I sobbed an unintelligible yes and hugged him so tight that he couldn't finish getting the ring on my finger.
We went back to my car, and I called plenty of people, and cried the ENTIRE way back to San Antonio. I'm not a crier, but I was definitely a mess that night.
Now remember, we had met in Austin in separate cars and combined when we got there, but I didn't think about this fact until we were practically in San Marcos. "BRIAN?, What about your CAR!?!?!" His eyes got really wide and he looked at me with surprise. I couldn't believe we had forgotten it! He told me a couple minutes later (after watching me squirm a bit) that his best friend John had been in the parking lot, and drove his car back when we left for dinner. He had me going for a second.
On the drive home I read the rest of the journal entry that I was in the process of reading when he proposed. He had written every day for the 5 days leading up to the proposal, and he documented all his feelings and thoughts that he couldn't tell me. It was great to read-especially the day where he had to call my dad. You would think Dad were a former wrestler with a knack for hunting and boyfriend-killing or something. (My dad is probably the least- threatening person I know- and that is coming from a completely objective stance, mind you.)
Anyway, that is the story. My parents waited up that night, so we got to see them (I cried all over again), and then we went to his apartment where many of our friends were waiting with champagne and sparkling cider [they are mindful of the underaged :) ]. I was quite puffy and red from all the crying by the time we got there.

It was undoubtedly the most amazing night of my life.
I am SO blessed that I get to marry Brian Marshall- the most incredible person I have ever met or known, and the only person I have ever loved like this.

to my fiance

you, my love, unclose me
breathing out what I let in

for when we are alone,
you are fire
telling me I am the kindling
with cold and shadows chased away,
there's no doubt about how you love me

how you love me! oh How!
you grasp my head,
as if it plans to leave
but it will stay forever
just to be near the flame
that lives in your soul
and leaps out through your eyes

but even through the rapturous cries of your affections
remains the gentle constance of your service
...As if I deserve to have my feet washed every day

you, my love, have learned
(from what is surely Grace)
how to love me
through the very love of God

in the dark you whisper
(with your eyes still shining blue)
sweet somethings- that resound
and your lips meet my forehead
while your fingers trace my chin

you, my love, do for me
what spring does for the cherry trees.

--------------------------------------

i wish i could do a better job of describing who he is, and how he is, but words always come up short

I do not want to go on being a root in the dark,
hesitating, stretched out, shivering with dreams,
downwards, in the wet tripe of the earth,
soaking it up and thinking, eating every day.
~Pablo Neruda, Walking Around (excerpt)

I think Neruda is my favorite. Oh to have Neruda's imagery, his vision, his expression! ...and for that matter to have Donne's conceits, Eliot's genius, Frost's perception, Hughes' rhythm, and Wordsworth's rhyme!
I long for a much more eloquent self.

you should read poetry

I found out that April is national poetry month, and having recently lamented over the shameful state of my own creative output, I decided that I should celebrate this glorious month by searching through my favorite poems once again. It always stirs me up inside. Good poetry can keep me captivated for hours, but is sadly underappreciated by the general populace I fear. I am going to try to post many of my favorite poems this month- maybe from here on out. These are simply words that people (if anyone really reads this) need to be exposed to. It is good for the mind and the soul. I will start with a standard from everybody's favorite metaphysicist.

Holy Sonnet XIV: Batter My Heart, Three-Personed God
John Donne

Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labor to admit you, but O, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
but is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy.
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again;
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor even chaste, except you ravish me.

fruit jenga

"The various liberations (in education) wasted that marvelous energy and tension, leaving the student's souls exhausted and flaccid, capable of calculating, but not of passionate insight."
Allan Bloom, The Closing of the American Mind

I never write anything that requires thought. I have slowly drifted away from that, and I think it is mostly because of my major. That is right. Biology has sucked my soul dry. I haven't written a song in ages, and very little of what I write is creative anymore. I don't have time for those sorts of mental exercises. No, it isn't quite like exercise- it takes the time and the work (in a mental sense) but is more like an exhalation. It is letting everything that is already inside just come out.
Everything I love is artful to me, and that includes science. Most think that science and the arts are opposing forces. In the sense of practical and abstract, that may be true to a certain extent...but somehow I see them as intricately connected. Science is art to me, but it is art that we cannot make-we can use it, uncover it, and build off of it, but it was never something able to be created by human hands or contrived by human minds. Perhaps science is comprised of what we take in, while art is what we let out.
I get really excited and worked up when I start thinking about certain aspects of science- I just can't get over the complexity of it all, and the incredible processes that must go on unseen every day for someone to function even for a millisecond. You wouldn't believe it. I know maybe 0.02% of it all, and I can't believe it.
I get just as worked up about literature too- words in general I guess. If I start reading Neruda or Marquez or T.S. Eliot or a host of others, I get carried away. Even a book full of good photographs could keep me occupied for hours. I have often thought that I would be just as happy as a liberal arts major as I am in the college of science. I am not so sure anymore. Science is mentally exhausting, but all the arts are emotionally exhausting for me. I love them too much.
Things I would like to major in: English, Linguistics, Art History, Visual Studies (like photography and design stuff), Spanish, Anthropology, Geography (yeah I am one of about 5 people that really enjoy it), sociology. I think I would find plenty more if I perused the list of majors.
Anyway, back to the topic...I don't think deeply much anymore- I think on complicated things, but those things are more like biochemistry rather than social issues. I sort of figured out why today.

I was in HEB and looking at all the fruit, when I reached for an apple. Upon pulling it out of its place, another apple rolled, and then the entire display cascaded downward. It is one of those cartoonish nightmare kind of things that one might imagine, but never actually have it happen. Well, it happened to me. There were granny smiths rolling all over the floor. It was like I had just lost a high stakes game of fruit jenga. Carts rolling by had to be stopped and routed around the apple obstacle course as their drivers supressed (or didn't supress) laughter. It was quite funny, looking back. I laughed as it happened, as apples were careening off the display and falling to my feet in slow motion. I didn't bask in the glory of the humor, though, because inside I was mortified as I frantically ran after all the renegade apples and tried to retrieve them all before the management made me buy them, or something
But that is exactly how it is when I start thinking about social issues, or art, or literature- I start and then cannot stop. I get so carried away by it all that it is completely time consuming. My mom never had to worry about me being entertained when I was younger, because if I had a book I would be set for hours on end. That life and passion is still in me I think, but I am always held back by responsibilities, and what the world deems utterly necessary. I just do enough to get by in school, and that is most of my life. It takes so much out of me that I make no time for other things. It is kind of sad. I miss that side of me. Everything that I feel was thoughtful, contemplative, and artful inside of me has atrophied, I fear.

Dang, I can't beleive it is this late. I was supposed to be studying for biochem.
and therein lies the problem.

back home

It gets harder to leave every time, but every time, I muster up the strength to do it. So here I am, in College Station. I am never happy about being back until I walk in the door, and it actually feels like home. Then people start coming over, and it is confirmed: I am back in the villa. Never alone, but never bored. We had our regular Sunday night Grey’s Anatomy party with the special addition of chocolate fondue. I was tempted to lick the pot, but withheld to abide by social convention.
I woke up late this morning with nothing to do, and stepped in the shower only to remember that showers here were more like Methodist baptisms. A little sprinkle on the head is all you get. This is one thing I miss about Mosher Hall: every showertime, the water had this experiment to see if scalding heat and extreme pounding were effective methods for removing skin. It felt dangerous at first, but after a few sessions I couldn’t wait to get beat up by my shower. It was addicting- it was like my very own version of a “fight club”.
Anyway, I settle for a vigorous misting from my shower. The villa is worth the wimpy showers.

I miss my best friend/boyfriend. I miss my momma, too. Love you both.
-------------

I wanted to cry last night when, through a mistake of extreme carelessness, I accidentally erased ALL of my pictures from Josh’s ring party at the villa (there were probably over 30), AND all the pictures of my little 8-yr-old soccer team. I thought they were saved on my computer, but failed to remember that the transfer didn’t actually work.
Just for the record, I DID have some great pictures of Josh with his face covered in lactose-free ice cream and pudding.

TV systems keep improving, and this scares me. I think this could be very bad for the sports industry, considering watching a game on the tv allows one to pause, rewind, and get a good look at the individual sweat beads on the player’s foreheads. Hi-def is really amazing. Watching football has never been such a delight. I have to stop myself and wonder, “do I like it because it is football, or because it looks pretty?” Generally if I am in an honest mood it is the latter.
Anyway, my house in SA was recently equipped with one of these DVR, hi-def, big screen wonders, and I have never felt so inept in my life. I consider myself pretty good with technology and computers and stuff- I can ctrl-alt-delete with the best of them, but I was stumped by this tv. We had three remotes,(before we got the super-computer remote with an lcd SCREEN on it. Yes a screen- that is for later), none of which were simple-looking. I found that I couldn’t even turn the tv ON or OFF. What happened to the big red POWER button? I usually just kept pushing buttons until the screen turned a shade of blue and noises were coming out of our sound system as the tv set itself to record every episode of an obscure show on channel 2,349. That, or my mom had to come help me.
How embarrasing.
I am young, hip, and in accordance with my generation should be totally technologically adept. If I were a REAL twenty-something, I should not ONLY be able to turn on a tv, but also hook up my super trendy itty-bitty ipod to the sound system and make it log onto the internet for me while simultaneously answering my phone calls and taking pictures.
(NOTE: I am not in possession of a super trendy itty-bitty ipod, or any sort of mp3 player. Perhaps this is my problem.)

A south texas christmas and death chairs

Holidays are all about family, and so for Christmas my family took a trip down south to the bustling metropolis of Raymondville, TX- Home of my grandparents, my aunt and uncle, and that large Mexican family down the road that blasts mariachi music all day. I hadn’t been there in a long time, so it was nice to return.
I pretty much just read all day and watched tv at night. I hate to be anti-social, but that is the way I always am around family. I set this precedent of the quiet, shy bookworm when I was little, so now I just slip right back into the role any time I am around them. I really wish I could be different, and show my outgoing, conversational side. I always vow to do that when I go see them, but it never happens.
Anyway, it was a fairly low-key christmas.
My aunt and uncle are the type of people that take a bi-weekly cruise and have had a tv with the square-footage of my bedroom for years. They have a newer, cooler tv now, and lots of other gadgets, like a piano that plays itself, and a treadmill that takes you on all sorts of runs, measures your heart rate, and when necessary performs open heart surgery. The newest addition to this house-of-wonders is one of those intense massage chairs you see in the front of stores like brookstone and sharper image. You know, the ones that draw you into the store knowing you won’t (and can’t afford to) buy anything. Admit it, you always go into the store just to play with stuff and lay on that mattress that is eerily hard until you sit down on it and it begins to eat you.
This chair they have is one of those that is always on display in those stores, and that you never get to try because some middle-aged man is laying there with his eyes fixated on the control panel, while his kids run around playing with alarm clocks that jump on the bed and give you a wet willy when you try to hit snooze.
When you sit down in this chair, it is not advisable to put it on the “shiatsu” setting. Shiatsu is the Japanese word for “beat the shi...at out of you”. The only tolerable setting is “gentle”, and even then is makes me attempt escape at times. Only problem is that it doesn’t let you escape. This is due to the fact that there are grooves for your legs that tighten to the point of inescapable pain. I expected at any point for metal clamps to shoot out over my arms and legs, and for a computerized voice to explain that I was being held hostage. Luckily it let me go after the 15 minute beating every time. I will admit, I did it more than once. It was almost masochistic.

It was during one of these pummel sessions that my aunt was the last one to go to bed and wanted to teach me how to turn off the tv. Little did I know, this requires a short class, and actually counts for credit at some smaller universities. Unfortunately when she started to teach me, I just kinda nodded and said, “yeah, yeah, I think I got it”. I said this out of complete ignorance, but in my defense I was busy being punched in the kidneys by this chair.
Well later that night when bedtime came, I was left all alone, just me and the wall of electronics. I wanted to turn off the TV, so I found a few remotes and started pushing buttons. Apparently I was choosing the wrong ones. After struggling for 10 minutes, I got the screen to turn off, let out a relived sigh, and then a pitiful whimper when I realized the sound was still on. I sincerely considered just leaving it until someone took care of it the next morning, but I wanted to conquer that thing. So I kept pushing buttons. Eventually I decided to go right to the device since the remotes were not working. I counted 9 different electronic boxes by the tv. Great.
The electronic battle wore me out, and the next day was full of adventure. While preparing for lunch, the ham was stuffed into the last remaining oven space, and apparently dripped into the bottom.
This makes smoke…lots of smoke.
My aunt possess a posse of (4) small dogs (you know- the yappy kind). Each dog she buys gets smaller, and eventually I am convinced someone someday will sell her a rat, which would be nice, because then it wouldn’t bark. Anyway, the smoke alarms went off, then the dogs went off, and all I could think was cacophony. (haha family joke. Yeah all our jokes pretty much center around nerdy words or something.) The house was full of smoke and piercing noise, so I just went outside and sat in the porch swing while the rest of my family tried to actually fix the problem. The sad thing was that this occurred right as all the food was ready. And then I saw the brilliance of my grandpa...
He just walked right into the smoke-filled kitchen, piled up a plate of food, walked to the table, sat down and ate contentedly. Everyone else was running around and yelling while trying to stop the smoke detectors, and there he was, amidst all the smoke, just eating. I guess one benefit of being old and hearing-impaired is that smoke alarms don’t stop you from food. That is when I decided to join him.
The two of us were still sitting there eating when my uncle walked in authoritatively with a leaf-blower to rid the smoke detector area of smoke. They had managed to stop one detector, but the other was still bleeping just as loudly as ever. The leaf-blower was a great idea, until it blew smoke back into the other smoke detector and got it going once again. I found all of this rather amusing, but given the panicked nature of everyone else I just kinda chuckled to myself. Turns out that one smoke detector wouldn’t stop because they needed some kind of code to stop it. They didn’t know the code, and didn’t really know what to do. Their house was too advanced even for them! It is like that house Ray Bradbury wrote about in that creepy story...
After 20 minutes, they found a phone number to call, and there was a noticeable silence…until my aunt tried wiping up the oven with a pee pad (What her little dogs “go” on) and it caught on fire. HAHAHAHAHA- I am sorry, it was just too funny. It wasn’t serious, and she took it outside and beat that fire down.
So my south texas christmas was full of joy and glee and smoke alarms and death chairs, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I am always up for a good story.