– Louise L’Amour
It’s my Happy Birthday, folks! Twenty-three years ago I was emancipated from the womb and let loose on this wide, wild planet – what a trip this life it has been, and I am thankful for every year that the Lord has so graciously brought me through!
23 things you never knew you never knew about
1) I am deathly afraid of anything with wings (even dragons and ladybugs)
2. I couldn’t whistle until I was 20 years old
THREE: When I was a kid I thought there was an entire civilization of tiny people who lived in between the couch cushions (I’m still not *totally* convinced I was wrong, someone must be blamed for all the things that supposedly get ‘swallowed’ by the couch, eh?)
4) I can scream loud enough to shatter eardrums and liquefy brain cells
(five) my brother and I had our own little record player and a stack of Jackson 5 records when we were kids (we were so *stinkin’* cool)
6. if I could pick three things I want developed in myself, they would be Cheerfulness, Thankfulness and LovingTenderness (did you like the clever way I slipped four things in on my ‘three things’ list?)
7) I am terribly allergic to dawn dish soap, tomato plants, hand sanitizer and hugs from people I don’t know
EiGhT- My literary hero as a child was Dr. Seuss. I wrote a Seuss-esque poem when I was in elementary school for The Doctor’s birthday. ***awwww***
9. My literary hero as an adult is Charles Dickens, because really, how can you not like a guy who breaks every single rule the English language has conjured up and yet is still hailed as one of the greatest writers that has ever lived? It’s so *exactly* the kind of thing he would have loved and it tickles me to no end.
*TEN* If I dressed exactly how I pleased, no one would be seen with me in public. Think hippie Tim Burton meets 1940s Britain. Yup.
11. I had a pig collection. not real ones, fake pigs. Of course.
twelve- I failed gym class. repeatedly. I was never the last one picked, I was the one the teacher had to *put* in a team because no one would pick me even when I was obviously the last one standing there. all alone.
13. (ten left- you hanging in there?) I am delighted by the most ridiculously simple things, and am usually pretty willing to show that delight to whoever happens to be standing near me at the time.
4teen: I dream of traveling to Europe and the Grand Canyon
15) I would rather be barefoot
10+6= I was in a rock band (sort of, for a short time, but it counts)
17. I am struggling to come up with 23 things about me that are even semi-interesting
18) I didn’t really sweat until I was 18, I just kind of overheated and then passed out. so that’s not even semi-interesting, but it’s pretty weird, huh?
nineteen- I became a Christian when I was nineteen years old
20) I’ve been pooped on by cows, rabbits, sheep, goats, cats, birds, chickens, snails and frogs- cow is the worst
**twenty-one** (two more, you can do it!!) I taught myself how to knit and somehow it worked out that I knit left-handed, even though I am a rather right-handed gal……
22- It is my heart’s desire to someday be married and have a bunch of children that I will dress in over-sized overalls and teach to sing in the rain and love God and not be afraid of life. I want to have children with cheerful childhoods to tuck in their pockets.
Three and Twenty: I love vegetables. I love them even better when they are deep-fried
So there you go, twenty-three things you didn’t even know you wanted to know about me! Now it’s your turn, if you so desire, leave a comment- let me know something about you, I’d love to hear it!
She’d a gypsy heart, and home-staying feet:
She loved campfires – and an ingle seat.
When summer rain shook its tambourine,
She snapped her fingers, but locked the screens.
She caught her hair with a high jeweled comb-
Then whisked egg whites to angel foam.
If stars inveigle her into the night,
She returned, like a moth, to the candle light.
For the Romany call in the South wind’s throat,
A kettle’s hum was the antidote.
She’d a gypsy heart, but it couldn’t pull
Her home-staying feet from their chimney stool.
– Ethel Romig Fuller
Aha. I am signing myself up for the Naked Face Challenge.
You got it, peeps. I will let my face live nakedly- no make up, no fancy-shmancy editing (which I can’t do anyway- but I thought I would throw it in there) and no bashing on the way my face looks. Ever. Again. No bashing. Ever. You’ve got to keep me accountable with this one.
I have never *really* been one for a lot of makeup, I’ve never liked all the fuss’n’nonsense that goes along with it and I have a horrific habit of touching my face- all the time- and when you wear makeup that means you have a horrific habit of looking like your ink didn’t dry all the way when you came out of the printer that morning. And yet, that doesn’t mean that I have been kind to my visage. That doesn’t mean that I don’t daily glare into the mirror and wish that there was *something* makeup could do to change how I look. I think my face has an awful hard job dealing with the critical person who lives behind it, and I think I need to stop being such a creep. Really.
SO, I guess, more than a ‘no-makeup-commitment’, this is a ‘love my naked face’ commitment, because really, that’s the point after all. It isn’t the makeup, it’s the attitude that’s poisonous, at least for me.
My boss, who is an amazingly eclectic and slightly eccentric person, told me her perspective on makeup the other day and it really got me thinking.
“You know Andi- I think wearing makeup is a socially acceptable form of lying. We’ve been doing it for so long nobody thinks anything of it- but stop and think about it. I mean, really, what’s everybody trying to hide anyway? Like nobody’s gonna know everyone else has got acne and blotches and pale lips and dark circles under their eyes. Get Real! That’s what I say.”
That’s what she said.
It’s not that I am never going to wear make-up again (especially when I’m wanting to NOT look like some washed-out Caribbean Zombie come December) it’s that I am going to stop raking my naked face over the coals.
I Promise to be more kind and loving to my naked face, taking care of it, but not obsessing over it. I Promise to let pictures be taken of myself *without* all the drama of dreading how horrible I am going to look in them- I will smile and say cheese and let it go. I promise to stop making fun of my smile, or the way that one eye squints up in a pirate-like fashion. I Promise to be thankful for my dark skin in the summer, and my pale skin in the winter- not everybody gets the chance to be two-toned. I Promise to recognize that God gave me this face… and I should think accordingly.
Anybody joining me?
Read Deanna’s thoughts on the subject at her blog, Delirious Rhapsody and then join up!
I asked for them, and when the horizon darkened and the clouds gathered, my cowardly heart retreated. It had already accepted the heartbreak that was destined to come, as sure as the storm, curled up into a ball and proceeded to ignore me as I stood on the edge of the field and waited. Numbness and hope flared up in confused competition as the winds gained speed, but my heart refused to open its eyes and look on.
My soul looked upon the scene and, exhilarated, made its choice, opened itself to the floods that would come. Found the God of its strength to be Faithful. It braced itself, and spoke words of peace to my heart when the first hesitant raindrops began to fall on my face.
Press on. Open wide. Swallow deep. Lean hard.
It is not all as it seems. Even if everything crumbles, we will build again, my soul says. We have a head start on the reconstruction if we only stand to watch it.
My heart gathers new fears from memory as the clouds gather strength from the sky and my soul is entwined with what is yet to be. I am here in the midst of it all, waiting for the storm.
You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.
– – by Russian Poetess Anna Akhmatova
If I were to live my life in catfish forms in scaffolds of skin and whiskers at the bottom of a pond and you were to come by one evening when the moon was shining down into my dark home and stand there at the edge of my affection and think, "It's beautiful here by this pond. I wish somebody loved me," I'd love you and be your catfish friend and drive such lonely thoughts from your mind and suddenly you would be at peace, and ask yourself, "I wonder if there are any catfish in this pond? It seems like a perfect place for them." - - by Richard Brautigan