Well, I IS my blog, after all!
Micha's Yuletide Yearnings
• Practice Mute (for violin)
• Hats
• “Killers” Music
“Muse” Music
“Death Cab For Cutie” Music
Vienna Teng Music
"Iron & Wine" Music
• Cargo pants
• Yarn—lots of colors!
• iPod/MP3 with more memory
• Despicable Me
• Digital Camera (Nikon)
• Sketching Pencils (2B, 4B, 6B, H)
• Fun, Dangly Earings
• Colorful, long necklaces
• Super Smash Bros (For the Wii)
• Other Wii Games
• Diana Wynne Jones books
• C.S. Lewis books (Paralandra Series, Screwtape Letters)
• Photo Album (6”x 4”)
• Futon
• Keys
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Gift-Wrapped
I am one of those people who like to make presents look all flawless and picturesque. But making something seem so lovely and delicate only makes that moment of tearing to shreds a person's careful presentation all the more delicious. Indeed, I feel that the precise art of wrapping is to pent up energy daily as a person eyes a package until that fateful morn.
I don't approve of curly ribbons, but I do insist upon neatly folded wrapping around cubic shapes. Boxes, in my opinion, are to complete the purpose and pleasure of surprise that comes with gift-giving. If something is some strange and very decisive shape, there's only a short list of things is could be. But a box, now, anything could be contained therein. It also alludes to the classic image of children gathered around a tree and shaking packages with their names on them, trying to guess what the other got them and the donor giggling with glee because the recipient's guesses aren't even close! Of course, Boxes allow for that slight disappointment when the reality of what the box really contains shatters all the dreams of life-long wishes that do the polka in our sub-consciouses, being instead something useful and not at all fun. But I relish the unknown moment before destroying a present's perfectly crafted exterior to discover the magic inside.
Some people look down upon gift-giving as evidence that a once purely religious and holy celebration has become secular and shallow, but I disagree, at least on my own part. I see gift-giving as an expression of one's love. I don't totally hold with the need to get someone something expensive or overly fancy, but something personal, that creates a deeper understanding of you with that person is wholly Christian, I think.
I don't approve of curly ribbons, but I do insist upon neatly folded wrapping around cubic shapes. Boxes, in my opinion, are to complete the purpose and pleasure of surprise that comes with gift-giving. If something is some strange and very decisive shape, there's only a short list of things is could be. But a box, now, anything could be contained therein. It also alludes to the classic image of children gathered around a tree and shaking packages with their names on them, trying to guess what the other got them and the donor giggling with glee because the recipient's guesses aren't even close! Of course, Boxes allow for that slight disappointment when the reality of what the box really contains shatters all the dreams of life-long wishes that do the polka in our sub-consciouses, being instead something useful and not at all fun. But I relish the unknown moment before destroying a present's perfectly crafted exterior to discover the magic inside.
Some people look down upon gift-giving as evidence that a once purely religious and holy celebration has become secular and shallow, but I disagree, at least on my own part. I see gift-giving as an expression of one's love. I don't totally hold with the need to get someone something expensive or overly fancy, but something personal, that creates a deeper understanding of you with that person is wholly Christian, I think.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Reprise
Oh, for the love!
This blog is supposed to be my lay-out of all the strange and peculiar ideas that strike me, not venting of angst!
So I'll so make a reprise of my imaginative self, bringing us to this post:
New things I've learned lately:
How to get to the Orthodontist from the high school.
Flattery can be lethal when combined with Vanity
Why Patience is a virtue
How to crochet a white star on a purple buret.
The friendships you have to work hardest to gain and maintain can be the most rewarding.
Loving again after a great loss can be a lot harder than in the movies.
Conflict is rarely cut-n-dry; there are always two sides or more.
Culture is more than language or beliefs or anything else we try to tack it down to.
The huge difference between baking powder and baking soda.
How to make Restaurant and Business Logo's.
How to run up and down a violin like it's a zipper.
That I actually like some Mexican food
Futons are one of the most comfortable places to sleep. Ever.
That I like myself.
This blog is supposed to be my lay-out of all the strange and peculiar ideas that strike me, not venting of angst!
So I'll so make a reprise of my imaginative self, bringing us to this post:
New things I've learned lately:
How to get to the Orthodontist from the high school.
Flattery can be lethal when combined with Vanity
Why Patience is a virtue
How to crochet a white star on a purple buret.
The friendships you have to work hardest to gain and maintain can be the most rewarding.
Loving again after a great loss can be a lot harder than in the movies.
Conflict is rarely cut-n-dry; there are always two sides or more.
Culture is more than language or beliefs or anything else we try to tack it down to.
The huge difference between baking powder and baking soda.
How to make Restaurant and Business Logo's.
How to run up and down a violin like it's a zipper.
That I actually like some Mexican food
Futons are one of the most comfortable places to sleep. Ever.
That I like myself.
Impending, Fantastical Doom
Gosh, College and life away from Rexburg is looming over me. All I can say is I will feel totally exposed and unprepared. I've only just lately started to realize how sheltered I really am. I do want to get away from America, if but for a short time. I want to know the world is round, you know? I think of all that my sisters have done and are doing, and I shrink at the thought; I feel so small compared to them, so silly and frivolous, so unaware of things as they really are. I know I'll be lost for a month at least. It's taken me a few months to even get Rexburg's layout down--how am I supposed to navigate anywhere else? Ah, graduation scares me, and I never thought it would. I've always been a person to tackle ideas and challenges and new things with relish and gusto, but I'm afraid of life being too big to tackle and that I'll fall short--or worse, that I'll tackle it with all fervor and discover I've taken too much on myself, like my sisters before me. I have this horrible adoration of the future. I'm just so excited to start life at MY command, being able to go as fast as I want to, in a sense, without fear of looking over my shoulder at nay-sayers and copycats. But then they don't ever leave, do they? The only thing that'll change is whether or not I'm looking over my shoulder to see them. Doesn't the thought ever seize you: the hope of becoming the greatest of all, compounded by the fear of total failure, which twists into some dreaded hybrid, like crying for joy or laughing so hard you wet yourself? Ever feel like that?
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Stone and a Hard Place
You know that terrible moment in mental/emotional/physical/psychological development when you're stuck between Needs, Wants, Values, Traditions, Growing Independence, and Passions? Yeah, I just hit it going 96 mph on cruse control.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
New Pet Peeve
When Mormons say things at funerals like,
I knew...
I loved...
They were...
Hey! Where is your faith?! They still exist. They are somewhere else, but still living, if not where we can see them. You STILL know and love them, I should hope, and they are the same person as when in this mortal life. They aren't lost or gone... just visibly absent. I mean, really!
I knew...
I loved...
They were...
Hey! Where is your faith?! They still exist. They are somewhere else, but still living, if not where we can see them. You STILL know and love them, I should hope, and they are the same person as when in this mortal life. They aren't lost or gone... just visibly absent. I mean, really!
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
With Answers I Don't Like
You know, I'm finally realizing why my sister hates Drama People so much.
This is a repeat of one of my last questions:
WHY DO WE DO THIS!?
We tear each other down, bite off heads, talk over, trod under our feet, and then what?
We ignore.
Why hurt people, why make them feel small? Is it to feel better about ourselves? But we don't, that's just it. Never by cruel words can we improve ourselves.
If you can't tell, I'm in one of my rare angry moods. Today I was hurt, and no one even knew it. Even some one who considers herself one of my best friends ignored me, assuming I was in one of my bubbly moods as usual, and talked about her small universe. If anyone had simply looked at my face or really listened to my voice, they would have known. I'm feeling kicked to the curb. I feel shrunk. I feel clumsy and immature and stupid around my friends.
No, I'm not angry. I'm sad. I've been wounded and forgotten. I feel like I've been transported back to the days when my sisters would all walk in an impenetrable line in front of me, whispering and laughing and berating anything I tried to put into the conversation. I feel nine years old again and every time I try to put in my opinion, it's immediately shot down. I feel stupid, and did I mention small?
I also feel like I can't make a difference. I've been trying, honest, so why do I still stand alone? I talk in a crowded room and no one turns their head. I have an idea and no one listens. People tune me out; I'm totally aware of this and have evidence. Sometimes I just wish people would do for me what I so often do for them. No thank you needed, but I would like a return of love, capiche?
This is a repeat of one of my last questions:
WHY DO WE DO THIS!?
We tear each other down, bite off heads, talk over, trod under our feet, and then what?
We ignore.
Why hurt people, why make them feel small? Is it to feel better about ourselves? But we don't, that's just it. Never by cruel words can we improve ourselves.
If you can't tell, I'm in one of my rare angry moods. Today I was hurt, and no one even knew it. Even some one who considers herself one of my best friends ignored me, assuming I was in one of my bubbly moods as usual, and talked about her small universe. If anyone had simply looked at my face or really listened to my voice, they would have known. I'm feeling kicked to the curb. I feel shrunk. I feel clumsy and immature and stupid around my friends.
No, I'm not angry. I'm sad. I've been wounded and forgotten. I feel like I've been transported back to the days when my sisters would all walk in an impenetrable line in front of me, whispering and laughing and berating anything I tried to put into the conversation. I feel nine years old again and every time I try to put in my opinion, it's immediately shot down. I feel stupid, and did I mention small?
I also feel like I can't make a difference. I've been trying, honest, so why do I still stand alone? I talk in a crowded room and no one turns their head. I have an idea and no one listens. People tune me out; I'm totally aware of this and have evidence. Sometimes I just wish people would do for me what I so often do for them. No thank you needed, but I would like a return of love, capiche?
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