Me vs. Scrug

So, it started out simply enough: another new hobby.

The only consistent non-academic interests I have are: running, piano, ukulele, guitar and swing dancing, which I consider more than mere hobbies, but as integral parts of who I am, of my creative identity.

Anyway. My other hobbies change constantly, with no discernible pattern. One day, I decided I simply must be good at planning parties. Ashley and I had decided to have a Pumpkin Patch Party, and I was going to pour my heart and soul into making it unforgettable. Two weeks later, after the party, I had another hobby: our secret writing project, which is still in process.

But off and on, knitting comes into my life. Things were off to a great start: After my friend knitted me a scarf, I decided that knitting would be my new hobby. It looked fun. Which it is. But I’m terrible at it.

I went to Michael’s, where I bought a book about How to Knit. I bought a couple different-sized knitting needles. I bought yarn, which I now recognize as terrible quality. I was all set.

I went home and I read the book. My friend showed me how to knit. I told her I was making a small rug. I knitted fervently. I knitted furiously. I sat myself down and I just knitted and knitted. Pretty soon, I had what looked suspiciously like a scarf.

“I thought you were making a rug?” My mom asked me.

I looked at my deformed scarf, which looked appropriate for someone with the neck of a giraffe, only three times as wide.

I wanted my knitting to be functional, but no. So I started over.

I knitted off and on. Went to Vanguard. Brought my knitting. Freshman year, it turned into an outrageously disproportionate rug, which I tried hurriedly to fix.

Sophomore year came, and I now had a neither a scarf nor a rug nor a scrug. What I held in my hands, the product of several years’ labor, was . . .

A giant mass of yarn. Twisted. Knotted. Hideous. Incapable of practical purpose. A green yarn mass, a blob.

That’s all it was. Heartbroken, I unraveled the whole thing. By this time, I got Ashley to show me how, and she looked at my yarn in despair, shaking her head.

“Chelsea, what have you done?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to knit. I want to be someone who can knit.” I told her as I held the yarn mass at arm’s length, as if it might come alive to bite me any second.

She took the knitting from me, unraveled it, and started it over.

“Here. Try again.”

So, a year later, it still looks completely unrecognizable as a scrug or anything functional, but my goodness, I’m going to get it right one of these days.

I’m sure of it. It shouldn't take someone five years to knit a simple scarf and/or rug!

Autumn > Winter, Summer, and Spring

I've begun using mathematical equations to describe my feelings.

Even though autumn here isn't the best geographically speaking, it will always be my favorite season.

For me, this autumn is great because:

Guitar + Piano + Ukulele = Happiness

NaNoWriMo is going well, and my birthday is coming up!

I've been going to a lot of Goodbye Luna concerts.

Swing dancing!

My schedule for next semester is perfect.

Ashley and I have a special writing project going.

I love my jr high group.



God is so good to me. And so very faithful.

Creative Writing Blog

So, I made a different blog just for creative writing. It's exciting, really.

rewrittenword.tumblr.com

:o)

I'm Sorry, but I Don't Have Elbows, Either

This person clearly has kneecaps*

“I don’t even have any kneecaps, so I really need you to give me $150.”

“Oh. Um . . .” The woman at Starbucks got uncomfortably close to me. Like an inch away from my face.

“I thought, since I saw you wearing that cross necklace, you would help me.” She was walking surprisingly well for someone without kneecaps.

“Well . . .” What could I do? I wasn’t about to give her money, but not because I am heartlessly cruel. This woman needed something else more than she needed my money for allegedly nonexistent kneecaps.

I looked down at my green cross necklace. It was my favorite, and it had gotten me into this. I was also in a hurry, as I was supposed to be meeting someone.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but I don’t have $150. If you want to, we can pray together. Do you know Jes—”

“—Yes, we will pray together.” She interrupts me quickly. “If I’ve ever done anything wrong, I’m sorry for it.” Grabbing me by the hand, the woman led me to the bench beside Starbucks, where I prayed softly over her.

[It was far more awkward than practicing my Spanish by having accurate yet agonizingly slow conversations with native speakers, where it takes me a million years to say one paragraph because I am so fearful of incorrect verb conjugation. Yes, I am even a stickler for Spanish grammar.]

Immediately afterward, the woman invaded another customer’s personal space with talk of her missing kneecaps, her commanding presence startling the unsuspecting man. So it may not have been profoundly life-changing, but perhaps something stuck. Who knows? This woman has been in my prayers.


*Photocred:http://www.indiamart.com/company/1488707/rehabilitation-aids.html

Just a Little Higher . . . 2,425 Feet Higher, to be Exact

I rarely post serious personal experiences, since those seem more like they belong in a journal rather than a blog. However, below is what happened to me at camp. Skip this post if you want to read higher-quality writing.

Do you know what it took to make me a different person?

Did a life-changing mountaintop summer camp experience come strictly through opening my mosquito-bitten arms to a few hundred children?

No.

Through learning to be a lumberjack? Tree chopping, wood chipping, yelling “Timber!”, or laying a phone line?

No.

It came through the days when no children were at camp, through hours of sitting on a stump amidst a broken pile of trees with nothing but God and His Word. Flipping through pages with dry hands, reading them with wet, weary eyes, and pouring out my heart—straight from chapped lips to an Almighty God.
And it came through having Him answer me. He answered me from a point beyond confession, when my English-major mind could think of no more words.

Change comes from asking God to do whatever it takes, whatever He needs to, to make you into the person He wants you to be.

At camp, I did many things I’m too intimidated to do, like jump off a 40 foot ledge attached to a tree on a zip line. Like going swimming 2,425 feet in the air in the pools of a waterfall in Yosemite. Like being a stand-in mother to several girls a week, 24 hours a day, getting up at 5:30 a.m. and cleaning for hours on end.

I listened to people’s life stories and hold their secrets. I listened to the kinds of things that no one would ever admit, except to an understanding listener with whom they are watching the stars until 4 in the morning. People will say a lot of things when you’re alone with them on top of a mountain.
In return, I told people some of my secrets.

Even here at school this year, I'm doing stuff that would normally scare me, like being president of things and speaking to groups of people.

There is nothing more freeing than doing things you’ve never done before--maybe things that scare you to death--if God is with you.

Oleoresin Capsicum, Elvis, and Me . . . Let’s Make Human Noises

It was a gorgeous day as usual. Sun shining, grass green, the whole bit. The focal point of the mountain, camp, was in full swing. Children and staff were busily making two-to-several zillion string lanyards, hands becoming dry from the effort of tightening. Processed, sugary goods were purchased from the gift store; a game of David and Goliath was in its early stages on the field. Others were testing their climbing abilities at the Rock Wall (Rocky), playing Sharks and Minnows in the pool, or asking their counselor to play her ukulele. A typical afternoon at Timber Mountain.

Almost simultaneously, all were stricken with extreme coughing. The watering in my eyes was insufficient to cool the burning as I wheezed and agonized, the A-frame my only refuge. Upon entering it, I discovered very quickly that this was the closest place to the agitation’s source. I needed to be as far away as possible, so I stumbled in the opposite direction as fast as I could.

“What’s (cough) happening? What is it?” Campers asked, flocking to the staff, which had camp omniscience.

“Don’t worry, it’s only the (cough) insulation,” we told the children.

“Insulation?”

“Yeah (cough). They have (cough, wheeze) to insulate (cough) the new addition to (cough, cry, feel like dying) the Boys Staff cabin.”

“Oh.” Cough. “Okay.”

“Just go (cough) along and (COUGH! COUGH!) play now,” I said.

I, along with the kids, sought a place to breathe again. But unlike these unsuspecting campers, I knew that this was no insulation problem.

It was Elvis.

“Elvis” is the name camp uses to refer to bears so as not to upset the children. Elvis had entered the building and was poking around the trash, then spent time hanging out around the BB gun area and archery. So “just a very little bit” of pepper spray was used to ward off the bear (read: bears, plural. Mama, baby, and teenager bear). It didn't work really . . . at all, but it made me want to leave the area.
It reminded me of Yosemite’s warning: “Actively discourage wildlife from approaching you.” Hmmm. Elvis, I don’t think you should do it. It’s really not in your best interest to come near me . . . it’s too nice outside, I’m busy right now . . . not a good idea. Not really in the mood to be approached.

When facing a bear, you should make yourself appear as large as possible and make human noises. For me, this means holding my arms out as far as they will go while yelling, “I am making human noises. I am a human, and I am making noises. Human noises, in fact. Got that, Elvis? HUMAN. NOISES.”

And we were all safe. I hope that is the only time I encounter "a little bit" of Oleoresin Capsicum.

It’s Never “Just an Eraser”

Upon examining past writings, I found this from my freshman year at Vanguard:

“The principle of functional fixedness was brought to my attention a few days ago. It states that people can become so hung up on the intended purpose of an object or situation that they fail to realize how else they can avail themselves of it. For example, my class was told to look at an eraser and come up with alternative uses for it. These uses included hollowing it out and using it as an ipod case, as a doorstop, etc. While some were odd, such as a makeup applicator, or impractical, such as a toothbrush, the point of getting out of our comfort zones and being resourceful was well-taken. It was not "just an eraser"; not quite in the same way that it is never "just the wind", but not an eraser in that things are not always as you first perceive them. With a little effort and thought and perhaps more time, new uses can be discovered for almost any situation or circumstance. So, don't despair--it's never 'just an eraser.' It's always something more.”

I often have the problem of not seeing what’s directly in front of me. Of missing the most obvious solutions.

So . . . maybe I should start viewing everything in my life as more than an eraser: feeling stressed about school? It’s more than an eraser! When I look at where I am now and where I want to be in a few years, I begin to wonder how the gap will ever be bridged and think . . . it’s more than an eraser! When I look at who I was 3 months ago and who I am now and I can scarcely see the resemblance---definitely not just an eraser.

And so God comforts me, putting me at peace once more.

I'll post about my camp summer soon: stay tuned, my 3-ish readers! :o)