I've been wanting to post something here to soften the blow of my religious-ey explosion, to act as a buffer between what you see when my page first pops up and the rest of my blog, but there are just TOO many things I could pick from and I can't even decide if I'm going to wear jeans today.

I read a blog I follow called "Sarah Says" and maybe it was because I was so tired yesterday by the time I read it or because I had had the giggles earlier in the day (and at work, no less!), but I laughed hard. She talks about lemons being hurled at her to desribe her experience with trying to find a job in her field and refers to a past entry in her rant that further explores the lemon metaphor. It's the writing style. It's the way she delivers what she has to say, her feelings about it, and the imagery comparison (analogies) all involving some sort of stoning that makes me howl out loud (hol, instead lol now?)

Of course, I've always been an imagery kind of girl. I always laugh MORE at people's reactions or the reference to a visual (sometimes unpleasant) than I do the actual joke content. Unless, of course, the joke content has a punchline that involves reaction from within the joke. Long way to go for a laugh, I know.

This has also made me appear "slow" in getting jokes. I realized this working at the crusher where the safety guy would read a joke at the end of the safety meeting (always paycheck Thursdays!) and there would be a 1.3 second delay from the other guys' laughing to mine. I've always known that I laugh more at the way a person responds to a joke than the joke itself, but being able to perceive that I laugh (and I bust out--like a BWA HA!) about a second or two behind everyone else has made me realize that I am just about a second or two behind everyone else.

And yes, sometimes it takes me a second to get a joke. If it reaches too far to get a punchline and I have to logically or numerically walk from the tag to the punch (BOH-REENG!), then I'll just look at you with a 'huh?-you-think-that-was-funny' look or I'll just laugh politely. And then I'll laugh because you'll look at me like I'm stupid--and THAT is funny. The facial expression.

But this is just how I am. Hard-wired to respond this way to jokes and I am absolutely, positively, undoubtedly sure I get this from my aunties. Well, ok, and my mom, too. Duh. But it makes my world that much richer because not many people I know react that way and so it makes the chance of mass production for my kind of laugh far lower and I'm left laughing alone or at least with you for completely different reasons. And you'll still think I'm laughing about the joke...

Heavy

Okay. I that's it. I believe in God. Okay? I shy away from this overt statement for fear of being perceived as a bumple-thumping scripture monger, especially on the ground that I believe in Him very strongly, believe in miracles, believe in Jesus Christ as the Son of God and our indescribably generous savior, and that his mother was (is) holy and immaculate. With EVERY fiber of my being. But you know what? Most times, as in my whole inner core with or without words, testimony, and the like, I can truly say I don't care how I might be perceived. It just such a personal thing to be modest about HOW MUCH I believe in Him because the relationship I have with Him feels private and protected. It's not FOR anyone else and it is even less for show or for demonstration via the pulpit. It is SO incredibly personal, it's hard to fathom. Hard to explain. It's so incredibly personal to share these things and show belief such as in capitalizing the "h" when using what I think is a holy pronoun or reciting His presence in my life when the world is FULL--and I know it is full--of cynics, but how on earth did I get from there to here; and how is that we have moved so far away from God as a people and a race?

My own journey is not open for public spectacle, and I say this, yet I see no wisdom in keeping it all to myself. I see the wisdom in sharing what I've been through so as to be a comfort to others, offer them words of resolve, of understanding, of empathy, and most of all love. But I don't feel like spattering it all over everything because people get sick of that, too, and it that's not helpful in the least.

So then, what of this compounded need to get this out? Well, for starters, I've been "quiet" and "observant" for far too long. In trying to tip toe around others' sensitivities and not be too bible-thumpey (which I could never be because I don't know enough scripture TO quote and have not read the bible cover to cover), I've almost become complacent for a red-blooded, impassioned hot-head like myself. It's just not me. (Besides the fact that I don't want to be judged by God as having fallen asleep at the wheel.)

Especially when it comes to the point of standing up for someone or something. If there is one thing in this life I loathe, or at least have heavy, temperamental disdain for, is idle hands, lukewarm attitudes, standing idly by in the face of injustice or just plain spinelessness. And for me to make all these concessions about what I will say or not say in public or to others to avoid embarrassment (embarrassment of possibly contradicting myself more than in people's opinions) just makes me a candidate for hypocracy. The whole thing is kind of (quite a bit of) crazy. I mean, there IS ... balance to be had. I'm not going to go screaming about Mohammed at the top of Sipple Hill tomorrow because there's just no grace in that, nor am I the type to stand on any soap box, but I think if I said something here, where I air just about every other thought I have, then it might complete the circle of rambling.

So standing up for what? Standing up for what I believe. Standing up for the qualities and lessons and morals Jesus taught us to live by on earth. I am Catholic, but I don't buy into everything the Catholic church sells. I also try very hard to put what is doled out into perspective. I believe that there are enormous possibilities that we can't even imagine as to what really transpired before, during, and after the Bible was written, but I don't believe that the stories in the Bible were "just" stories. I believe EVERYTHING happens for a reason, especially when we can't understand it; and even if that much is by human error, it is, has been, or was allowed to transpire by God himself because he gives us free will. I believe that we make up or shun the things that are difficult to believe because it's easier to laugh than to try to believe in something that has no concrete, human-registered value. I believe that God DID send his most precious son down here to earth, that his name was Jesus, that he was born in ways too miraculous to understand, to live life just like us--or the "us" of the times, those times, back then, that culture--and suffer a most excruciating death so that we could never say to Him "you don't understand". I believe that he did come back to life, did raise up, did go to Heaven, and now lives among us as an invisible soldier, friend, confidante, brother, and intercessor who is trying to get us all up to heaven; and as someone who TOTALLY understands.

I believe Jesus wants us to live through him and him through us (you know, like when you tell a friend "I'll live vicariously through you"), both in the heavenly and afterlife sense, but also in the sense of now; but so that we could have a piece of Heaven because he suffered the ultimate price, he suffered more than we could ever know, more than we could ever endure. He can tell us in our hearts and in those moments of quiet peace that He knows and understands our woes and burdens and triumphs and reliefs; and that will make us want to listen. Share our pain, our joy, our sorrows, or delights. I believe that His love is so thorough and so pure that we cannot possibly fathom its endurance. I believe science and religion are intrinsically connected, even though they cycle around each other in this duel for the title of dominant force because science is the discovery and explanation of miracles, given to humanity as gift; and religion (or spirituality) is the cause to believe. We need desperately to understand that cockiness on either side of the debate is still cockiness and it's getting us nowhere. In that instance, we are still like kids, locking horns on the playground because one thinks they're better than the other. A reponsible person might say, "it's not LIKE that" to them after pulling them apart and why? Because adults generally understand that in the bigger picture, there is give and take, compromise, resolution and balance. But right now, no one is saying anything. And for those that are, there tends to be a top-heavy imbalance of self-righteous posers blabbing at the top of the stack.

Maybe I am one of them, but I hope not. The point is there is a part of me telling me I'm not saying enough. It's not a guilty feeling, it's a half-impatient feeling, as though I were asking myself 'what's taking you so long?' I also fight the feelings I have of others when I read or hear the overused "god" word in their vocabulary. The sad reality is that the "G" word has been overused and used in a near-abusive way, to the point that it's almost gimick or trendy, which is awful. We need to take a moment and shed all the crap, the toys, the gadgets, the electronics, the words, the talking and purge the air, purge our personal environments, just for a second and breathe the simplicity.

Starry winter nights

It's exactly what it implies.

There is something quietly magical and mysterious about the still, dark, winter night sky. It's just romantic, both in metaphor and in reality, but it's also nearly impossible to grasp. It seems always just out of reach and overwhelming in concept and in entirety, respectively. It makes me feel in full scope how wrong the world is or how wrong I am or just how inferior my human attempts at living life right are. In looking for a photo to go with this entry, I realized that the aurora borealis gives exactly the same kind of impressed emotion. That kind of surpressed feeling that makes you want to explode just to get out of your body, which makes you feel so momentarily trapped. It never lasts and it's so intriguing but it also so humbling that I just don't know what to do with it and then hustle in the house with girls as I realize I'm getting cold and have a handful of something (bags, stacks of books, leftovers from supper at Darlene's.) I'm really not on drugs. I've just never tried to explain this before.

It's what makes me the crazy, Latina, life-absorbing, miracle-observing chick that I am. But I find it no coincidence (or perhaps CrAzY coincidence altogether!) that the aurora, the stars, the sky--all of it--work together to woo me in this crazy, cold north living with a man who I wonder may have been in a dream I had before I even knew him. Yes, I know. That might be going too far...

But it begs the question: what if?

This dream is so old it's hard to believe I still think about it. Several years ago (thirteen or fourteen), I had a dream one night where the only details I remember are that it was in the middle of winter, the middle of the night, I was in a cabin that resembled the mobile home I used to live in, and several girls wandering around, all in some form of a white dress. (Pajamas? Smocks? Hard to say.) They were all just walking around, doing aimless tasks and I remembered wondering (a little self-righteously) what in the hell they were doing and what for.

Next I remember being across the living room and standing in front of the window. I remember looking out into the bitterly cold night, I remember wondering how cold it was, not wanting to find out, and I remember the sparkling, expansive, untouched blanket of snow on the field that stretched past the horizon. It was like I knew the air outside was unbearable and Arctic-like (being a girl from Wyoming), but was still standing super cozy and warm inside. In the meantime, I took in the dark, black-purple sky, riddled with stars and just stared, half breathless, into the midnight sky.

But I also remember that just as momentarily as I perceived cold, warmth, and wonderment, I perceived absolute desolation because there was nowhere to go and no way to get out. I wouldn't have known which direction to go and no one seemed interested in getting away anyway, seeing something new, experiencing life past this two-dimensional way of living. It was desperately lacking.

That's not all. If you've ever had to transition from experiencing pain to accepting it, you'll understand this next part. I realized how separated we were from other people and it felt instantly crushing. I actually felt physical pain. Somehow this translated into knowing I would never find love and the whole entire realization--of being cut off from the world and not getting the chance to experience true love (cheese alert!! cheese alert!!)--just killed me. I had to take this enormous sadness, accept it, and somehow turn it around.

The next thing I remember was holding the front door open for someone who, I guess, had come by in passing. It was a guy, a man, a tall, broad man, who barely fit the door frame and he was covered in furs all the way up to his eyes, eyes I couldn't see, but somehow captivated me through this jolt of electric energy that I couldn't perceive. Energy and connection that was beyond first or second impression, and I was amazed, incredulous, relieved, and inexplicably light-hearted at the thought of his presence. Yet he was right there in front of me and there was something about him, something about the way we connected, that I knew he was meant for me and I was meant for him. I woke up sad to leave the dream but with a smile for a sense of purpose.

It's so ooey-gooey (and it's SO me), but the overall purpose of the dream seemed bigger than me and all my gooey-eyed perceptions of romance or even life.

The point is, it stuck with me for a good long while and then it went away. After graduation and a few failed experiences, life went on and I got a real good dose of reality as I searched for jobs 7 months pregnant and moved on with homework, bottles, diapers, daycare, and concert rehearsals. I totally forgot about it.

Enter Kyle. And the world around me changed again. The way our relationship unfolded and the way he treated me made feel just like I did in that dream (the good part, that is.) Then that's when I remembered the dream. All the comparisons since then of my life with him always involve some kind of recollection of that dream. It makes me wonder--it has always made me wonder--if maybe there was purpose to that dream, purpose beyond my own agenda, divine intervention perhaps or if it was just that I wanted to relish in the coincidence so much that I subconsiously made it so.

I highly doubt the latter, no matter what the cynics believe. I don't need that dream to know what the beautiful inscription of Kyle in my life means or how blessed I am to have him in my life. I simply know that both the reality of Kyle in my life and the dream of someone very like him are connected. The comparisons will be left to a later entry.

The phone really isn't that bad

I just read an old entry and, while I don't have time to write much here and now, I feel compelled to rectify certain emotions.

1. The phone isn't that bad. I have had, shall we say "hang ups" about getting on the phone, anxieties over dialing (yes, I am one of those), and overall negative experiences with others on the phone in my previous lives, but I am starting to learn how to use it, essentially, in a way that fits my personality and my life. All it took was a little getting used to and some growing up.

2. I was PMS-ing. The motherload of all excuses.

Back to the G.I. Joes, an addition to Jan 31 entry

I say I was a tomboy by force. No one ever put a Lego gun to my head and told me to be, but being the only girl with two brothers, it only stood to reason that if I wanted to have someone to play with, I would have to play on their terms, with their rules, and their games. But I was still a girly-girl. Just ask my dad.

Did I mention they were younger? This had no bargaining value, no leverage. Whatsoever.

Usually Erik made the rules and Michael and I followed, but even before Michael was old enough to hang outside with us unattended, Erik was doing his own thing. This was not always the case, I admit, because there were many time I didn't want to get dirty or be bothered or play with Tonka trucks or Tinker Toys; OR because he was taking direction from his older sister. However, I do recall playing with G.I. Joes, Guns, hide and seek, MacGuyver, Hunter, and various other action-packed adventures because he refused to play Barbies, My Little Ponies, dress-up, and for the most part, House.

Lush sensuality

1. I was born in Laramie, Wyoming, USA and was primarily raised in Gillette, Wyoming where we moved when I was little. Both are in the east side of the state, Laramie in the south corner, Gillette in the north. I've never been to Yellowstone National Park.

2. I don't really have a favorite color because I don't ever want to have a house or closet full of purple, which would be the color of choice. But then I wouldn't want a house or closet full of red, either, or chocolate brown, black, blue, green, which are all really great colors,too, that are rich and attractive and that I like just as much. Too many options to have too much of one thing and variety is the spice of life. It's not a standard rule, but it does stem from my beliefs in balance.

3. I was a single mom for a year--only a year--but I was 18 and will never forget it because I didn't know a thing about anything and it came before everything else, including all the other things I would ever become in my life. I played single mom again when Kyle was sick with cancer for 6 months and again later when he took a year off of teaching and had to work out of town. So even though my life is great now, it wasn't always so.

4. I was in a horrible accident with my then-fiance (Kyle) and my then-year-old (Aurora) where I fell asleep at the wheel trying to drive overnight back home, hit a reflector pole, overcorrected one too many times, and sent us rolling into the median of the highway. According to the police report, I hit the reflector pole, swerved, over-corrected twice, and rolled the vehicle a number of times before coming to a stop on the roof. Aurora was ejected out the back, but miraculously--MIRACULOUSLY--escaped with a bruise on her jaw and a bruise on her collar bone. She was released from the hospital within hours. Kyle was beat up horribly, with pulled back muscles, ridiculously blood-shot and blackened eyes. He was released in a few hours. I was in ICU for three days with concussion. My dad said I looked like an alien. I don't remember ANY of it. Did I mention I was driving a Geo Tracker?

5. The guilt from the afore-mentioned accident on ALL sides of realization ate at me for a very long time. It took a long, long time to "sober" up, get my brain back, start remembering things, and I was a very different person after that. Very combative. Not myself.

6. I have a big freckle on my big toe. It's been there since birth.

7. I don't grow my nails out. I am always clipping them because I hate the feeling of click-click on piano/keyboard keys, the scratching when they connect with a surface, and when they start tearing at the tips.

8. I love to laugh. I love stupid comedy, dry humour, jokes that involve reaction and I will laugh primarily at reactions that have less to do with the joke content than people's faces.

9. I use tanning beds.

10. I think confession is good for the soul.

11. I talk too much and too fast.

12. I can operate heavy equipment, operated a full-scale gravel crusher, and shovel like a b****.

13. I can drive a standard transmission.

14. I rebuilt my bathroom downstairs from scratch after we had water in the subfloor and had to gut it out. I'd like to say I did it all myself, but a friend with more knowledge than me helped.

15. I really, really, really like my computer. I don't go to bed without spending WAY more time on it than I should.

16. I know how to play bassoon and used to be pretty good at it.

17. I like to belt out the tunes if there is noise that can kind of hide it and I stop when the noise stops. I used to sing full force when I worked at the crusher because nobody could hear me over the generator, the conveyor belts, the motors, the noise, and overall crunching and crushing of boulders. But sometimes I like to hear my voice in resonating in a building. Like the bathroom or the restauarant I work at that has a vaulted ceiling or big churches.

18. I put a rock through a picture window the summer after 8th grade because I befriended a girl who stole cars. The police came driving around and we somehow managed to avoid getting caught by laying in a field of grass taller than us for three hours.

19. I'm a Gemini.

20. I danced the Jarabe Tapatio with my dad when I was in high school for the Cinco de Mayo night the school put on. It was the unofficial official version of the regional dance of Jalisco, the state where he is from. It is, more or less, the Mexican Hat Dance. I still have the dress. I still hope to dance it again some day.

21. I speak Spanish. My dad is Mexican. I have Mexican family that I can talk to, but don't often.

22. My mom is Norwegian. She does not speak Norwegian. Nor do I.

23. I was in Girl Scouts from grade 1 to grade 8. It's really, REALLY not cool to be a Girl Scout in junior high.

24. I got out of an algebra test in college to get married. I wore my best friend's clothes and tied a bow in my hair. In 1999.

25. My computer is about to die. So I'm posting this and logging off.