Making Noise: Finding a Voice

As a little kid I was always full of ums, ers, hmms, I don't knows, shrugs, and maybes. I was pretty indecisive. Still kinda am but it might have been worse had there not been circumstances that forced opinions upon me. Ever since then I have been bursting with viewpoints with no one to tell them to. Something about writing these posts has really helped me be able to speak my mind and not feel so overwhelmed. Writing has become my outlet for most everything. I only wish I'd discovered it earlier. It wasn't until well into happening upon misfortune that I realised whenever I was feeling strongly about something that had recently happened was when I could write magic. It just flowed through the pen and the words kept coming. Afterwards I would be left drained, completely worn out as if my mind were on a break, yet strangely relieved. Like somehow my writing things down confirmed the truth and made more sense.

I call it magic because in books that's how they describe it. If you try a spell too powerful it zaps all your energy, leaving you weak and helpless. Plus there really is a certain magic to writing. I can't think of a single person who doesn't like stories, whether it be through books or movies. They have power over us. I found this out in fifth grade, as it became my only trusted communication. I seemingly lost my ability to speak against or contradict anyone. In a sense, I lost my voice. Then I discovered writing. I was really angry one day with all these thoughts swirling storm-like through my head when I just got out a notebook and began scribbling words like mad. The product was neither pretty nor inspiring. It was merely to help me, which it did. The only problem was that my deadliest fear was for someone to read it. However much it might help, it felt as if it could strip me raw and leave me for anyone to gawk at.

It was like putting money in the bank for safe keeping. I'd write most often when I would otherwise burst and then I would be empty again until the next time. I collected a slew of these notes written in times of desperation, and put them all in a folder, hidden from prying eyes. Some might call it a journal, but it wasn't the ordinary kind with lists of what you did that day. Personal, yes, but the difference was that I didn't write about myself, it was me.

The village wise woman once told me that you need to make noise to be heard. People ignore you if you remain quiet. I have done my best to regain volume. The only thing is when you're standing in the same room as someone, you're not going to write notes back and forth. I mean there's always texting, but that's a little hard with a windy dial phone. Yet I've been learning more and more, that these kinds of things come from Christ, in his own time, and in his own way. 

So, for now or forever, I will be a writer of thoughts, speaker of few words, and servant of faith. Don't ignore the tug to go and do what you love when you're stressed. In the long run you will have saved a lot of time that would otherwise have been spent reading same paragraphs over and over or ripping math problems to shreds out of frustration. Everyone can work their magic at times like these whether it be running, singing, making music, speaking, whatever. Find your niche and I guarantee that the results, if not pretty, will at the very least be from the heart which is a hard place to reach when you're not feeling passionately about something. Let it fly. One more thing; it takes practise. Remember that everything worth doing requires practice. In the beginning you might only last a couple minutes before the moment is gone. The more you practise however, the longer you will be able to stay in the zone.

A world away

I have a lot of long distance relationships with some of my greatest friends, the farthest of which is in Colombia and a bit closer perhaps in Missouri. These are really great to have, and make good pen pals, but sometimes they hurt, badly. Sometimes I feel ready to grab my broomstick with Lily and take off. Or jump on a train or plane and just go live with them. I'd be content to be a nomad and tour the world, staying with friends while having real conversations about life and books and cats. That seems like the life of an author. Strangely appealing. This is all to say that loving over a long distance is rewarding, but almost ruining at the same time. It is so different from the kind of people you enjoy but see every week. It makes every letter, call or visit all the more precious. You don't waste time with nonsense.
It also makes me really think about exactly what I like about them. Why do I bother keeping in contact. I can think of a lot of kids a would not bother keeping in touch with. Then again, I wouldn't call them friends now anyway, rather relationships born of necessity. I think that might be for another post though.

Back to distance friends, I think they work because that is partly how they were originally formed. Some I see only over the summer, some every couple years. Each of them is unique in what kind of relationship I have with them. A type that I almost couldn't have otherwise because I don't think I would relate to them in the same way if they lived nearby. As in this is the way I can be honest and would be more likely to ask for help. Not that I don't love visits, but the very act of remaining a part of my life is telling, especially when they are the one who first instigated staying in touch.

And I can get to know them in an entirely different way than I do my home friends. I may not know their favorite color or food, but I know other things like  their writing style and how often they check emails, all things that hint at what their life is going like. I also know that it can be frustrating waiting, even maddening. Why aren't they answering? What's taking so long? I guess they don't want to talk anymore. They're stupid assumptions and not true. I still think these things, often, but I've accepted that not everyone has the same schedule as I do. The one thing I can say has helped, although it still hurts, is don't expect a reply. When you anticipate an answer the very next day or even the next week, it makes the disappointment all the worse. You let yourself down. So write as if resigned to the fact that you are having a one way conversation but there is a person on the end who cares and understands. Because there is and when they get around to remembering, five weeks later, that makes the correspondence a pleasant surprise to hold you over for the next couple weeks while you wait some more. Who knows, maybe I will end up rooming with them one day.

I am currently in my own little world away, off in the Great Perhaps. Away from the guilt that I'm not practising music or doing math like I should. I suppose it wouldn't be very good if I started physics this year without having ever done algebra though. I did survive chemistry however, somehow. It's still summer though, so I will enjoy every minute while I can. I have come up with a new theory about why toddlers copy everything you say. It's because we repeat nearly everything they say. Stop saying things twice and they might see that that's not really how we speak. Not that it bothers me, it's a hard habit to break, but I thought it was interesting.

Brown Thumb

I feel like there are those who enjoy gardening and those who really don't. Personally, I'd much prefer to admire others gardens than plant one myself. Because I do like them. In fact I planted blueberries and strawberries and sugar snaps this year. Except by that I mean that I picked them out and my Head Gardener planted them for me. See, that's how I enjoy them. I also don't mind decorating them. Designing, plotting, and picking plants is my specialty, it's just when it comes to tending them that I have an issue. I like immediate results. Which is maybe why my favorite flower is a sunflower. They need hardly any tending, yet they grow inches every day and are enormously satisfying.

I also have a knack for watering. Every time I water it seems as if it did nothing at all, or I drowned them. Let's just say that my thumb is brown, and that no one should ask me to take care of their garden. Actually, I am doing a neighbor's lawn over the summer, and that includes their plants. I've been really scared of them all dying by the time they get back from vacation, but they seem to be doing okay. One section is mostly vegetables, or some other kinds of edible plants. I was given permission to harvest and eat them myself since no one else will be around but the problem is I don't know a thing about growing a beet or lettuce or anything! Most of it I wouldn't eat anyway, but one was labelled broccoli so I thought I'd take a look at it, and not knowing whether it was ripe or not, pulled the plant up. Hmmm... lesson number one, broccoli doesn't grow underground. I put it back. Hopefully nothing goes wrong if I let other things like the beets rot underground?

Have I enticed you yet to buy some delectable worm filled apples or squirrel munched pumpkins? How about brown petunias? I also have weeds aplenty. My plant business is called Whomping Willows. Special orders only. I do funeral arrangements, and just about any other occasion you can think of. Payments must be made up front. Interested? My website isn't functional, so you'll have to comment and I'm sure we can work something out.

In other news, I've been waiting for a flop post that needed extensions, and here it is. Kitty Korner is back:
About two weeks ago, I gave my cats baths. It was a lovely Sunday afternoon (or was it Saturday?) and they seemed to be begging for it. Lily was the only one inside at the time so, she had to go first. I think that, if possible, I have grown even more attached to her. I felt extremely bad! Like, I felt as if I were betraying her and almost couldn't do it. She was sitting in the windowsill just sunning and looking like the cutest little thing you ever saw and I don't know how to say it, but I just felt really, really bad! Anyhow, when I carried her to the bathtub and closed the door, she started howling. Poor baby. The entire time I apologized to her and she was so pitiful. She mewed so much I had to shut the window for fear people walking by would think I was torturing her. There was only one major escape attempt towards the window which ended in a bit of slashing at the soap. Fred sat outside the door mewing back and commiserating with Lily. Little did he know, he was next. I wrapped Lily up in a towel and stuck her in the backyard to dry.

Fred was much better. He was sad, but I didn't feel as bad because boy was he dirty! He also had a go at the soap and made his mark. I told him that he would look a lot more like a movie star if he let me wash him so he cooperated for the most part, considering he's probably four times stronger than his sister. I put him out near Lily, who was in the exact same spot as I'd left her and looking like a little fluff. George showed up right at that moment, not wanting to miss the fun I suppose. So into the tub he went. He was the worst noise- wise. For about five minutes he made no protest, not a single meow. I think he was in shock. Then he went crazy and didn't stop the rest of the time. I swear that they all lost their meows after that for a few days. George was especially hoarse. So a little scrub a dub dub and one more swipe at the soap for good measure and he was done. Into the back he went where he got his own sun spot near the other two, right where I left them. Those two were beginning to look a little more like cats instead of sheep but Lily was still licking herself.

Obviously it's been a while and now they might be just as dirty as they were before since they've caught a number of things I don't care to mention, but they are still so soft and much cleaner to the eye. Their fur had gotten so greasy over winter. I'm glad that chore is out of the way for the year. I would enlist help, but I don't think Lily would let anyone else come near her, she already thinks I'm out to punish her. Another job opportunity! Just let me know if your cat needs a bath.

Blue, Red, and White

We're going to take a break from the post I'd not yet planned and celebrate that it's the fourth of July, the day after America's true obtainment of independence. As tradition, I watched my town's parade, marched in the next town's parade, and then went to see the fireworks. It was nothing special. I got burned, ate a little too much candy, and couldn't go to the library, but it was fine. I did not however enjoy marching in the parade. I usually ride my unicycle, but I decided I didn't want a bunch of people watching me make a fool of myself this year, so I walked with a congress t-shirt on and felt awkward instead. I really don't like people staring, so why did I go advertise for thousands of people on someone I know little about? Not sure, but I don't like how by the simple act of wearing a shirt with someone's name on it, that it is an act by which you are judged and in many cases condemned.

No, there weren't many nasty comments that I heard, but I can tell from the way people would look and stare. Then there's the people who cheer, because they believe you are great for liking the same guy. Like I said, lots of judgement. It was very uncomfortable. So I don't really have any more on the subject. I do think it's interesting how, since it doesn't have any religious ties, this seems to be the one most attended event of the year. At the fireworks for example, I don't think I've ever seen an entire community gathered in one place for anything else. Because apparently people like to spend a lot of money to watch things go boom for thirty minutes and then go get drunk afterwards. We the people! Not trying to be anti anything, just pointing out the obvious. People are stupid. I watch them too.

By the way, if anyone is keeping up with the Quidditch World Cup, the countries in the finals are Brazil, Bulgaria, Japan, and USA. Personally, I'm rooting for Bulgaria. For you boring people who only watch soccer, I guess I'm rooting for Colombia. Whoo blue red and yellow! So there you are, my patriotic post without a point. Hope you enjoyed it.