Books

I went to the library again today. I picked up four new books while I was there. This is in addition to the other four books I picked up on Saturday. And after I visited Barnes and Noble on Sunday. Note: Barnes and Noble was merely for browsing purposes--I used it to add several more future reads to my list. As if I don't have enough...I might just have a problem.

So, sitting in my room are eight books recently acquired from the library. As always, I overestimated just how much I can read in a three week period.  To my credit, I am about 100 pages into one of them, "Started Early, Took My Dog" by Kate Atkinson. It is the fourth book in a quirky British series that is sort of a mystery novel but a little something more as well. I have always enjoyed this kind of novel, and I am always looking for new ones that fall into the genre. Next up, I think I will read "The Tiger's Wife" by Tea Obreht because I have read such good things about it. Then, I am not sure what I will go. It will depend on my mood at the time--perhaps it will be "Here's Looking at Euclid" (a book about math of all things...don't ask me what possessed me to check this out, but I am trying to expand my horizons, I guess) or maybe "Balkan Ghosts" a history of the Balkan countries about which I am sadly ignorant. (I am reading this in preparation for my next great trip in June...I like to know a little of a place's history before going)

Can you tell I kind of like to read? I jokingly say that much of my youth was misspent reading anything and everything I could get my hands on. Strangely, though, it is my gluttonous appetite for books that has left me with a surprising amount of trivial knowledge that one day may help me win on Jeopardy. (Or poison someone without detection, commit arson without leaving the tell-tale trace of accelerants, infiltrate secret government systems...)

While television may provide some information for the casual viewer, books teach you so much more. I would argue even some of the most insubstantial books (of which I have read more than my fair share) teach something, if nothing more than a few new euphemisms for human anatomy...perhaps all of this is why I earned my master's in library science. Granted, there is so much more to the degree than just reading books.  But one day when I want to bore the audience, I can go more in depth about information storage and retrieval, best research practices, and information literacy. I digress, though. Books have always been my primary form of entertainment, my true pleasure in academic study, my path to escape, and my way to greater knowledge. And I am grateful that Kansas City and the surrounding area have such a wonderful library system.  Otherwise, I would be thousands of dollars poorer. I really do not think that is an exaggeration!

So, here I am going to ask what kinds of things you enjoy reading and what you would recommend to someone who reads just about everything?  Also, just out of curiosity, how often do you get to read and how much?  (I tend to read a minimum of one book a week, but if I have a few late nights, that number easily reaches 3-4)

Gray Days

Last week at this time, I was luxuriating outdoors, enjoying the blissful warmth of a spring evening. Today, I sit in my room wearing several layers, a blanket draped over my shoulders. Large, fluffy flakes fall heavily, lightly frosting the tips of the bushes outside my window. I cannot deny that I am a little chagrined by the turn of events, but such is the fickle nature of the weather. So what is one to do when trying to pass time while feeling trapped indoors?  Work on the next part of the story I shared last week. I didn't get very far this week. I am still trying to reconnect with my characters and the story between them. (I even did some research earlier by walking outside in this bitter cold weather...well, it wasn't really research, but I did try to think of reasons why anyone would be determined to walk in foul weather come hell or high water...)  Anyway, below is what I came up with...it is beginning to be more of a character study than anything else. I need to introduce more plot elements, I think...

Her gaze swept the room, hunting for anything that might give her a clue what kind of person she had followed home. The small apartment was sparsely furnished but tidy. A large bookshelf dominated the far wall, a mishmash of titles filling it to capacity. While an improvement over the wind and rain outdoors, the air was cool, as if heat were a luxury he couldn’t quite afford. No pictures hung on the wall, and the distinct lack of personal effects left her feeling uneasy. She was used to the idea of a home being warm and inviting, not that she herself had ever felt that kind of comfort in her own house. When she had agreed to follow this man back to his place, a small part of her hoped that he would be an answer to her prayers, providing her with an infusion of warmth lacking in her current life. The cold sterility of the room deflated all hopes, and she felt resigned to the fact that this wasn’t going to the defining moment that changes the course of her life irrevocably.

He watched her as she took in the room in its entirety, trying to gauge what her reaction was to be. He felt foolish inviting her back, knowing that his place was not what he had wanted it to be, at least not yet. He had only recently moved in, leaving many of his possessions in his parents’ care. Soon, he hoped to dress the walls with photographs, artwork, anything to breathe some life into this Spartan existence. But for now, all he could offer was a cup of tea and a place to stay dry. This curious young woman needed something, and even though he knew better than to think he was the one to give it to her, something compelled him to step outside of his normally quiet life to invite her in.

“I’m Thomas, by the way.” She turned to see his hand extended, waiting for her to shake it.

“Emma.”

“Um…the washroom is down the hall, if you want to er, freshen up a bit. I’ll put the kettle on for some tea, if that’s alright?”

How British, she thought with an inward smile. “Thank you. That sounds lovely.” She headed to the bathroom as he turned to the kitchen. 

Happy Hour

I am not a social person. I am the kind of person who, after work, skips changing into casual clothing in favor of donning pajamas. (Unless I plan to go for a walk...then I might go ahead and put on jeans and a t-shirt since I haven't quite reached the level of eccentricity where I feel comfortable roaming the city streets in my robe.) So, this makes it all the more remarkable that last night I willingly...nay gladly...joined a group of co-workers for some after hours socializing.

It was a simple affair, a means to celebrate the birthdays of two co-workers. We had planned to hit Brio, an Italian place, but it seemed like the rest of Kansas City had the same idea. With a remarkable lack of fuss, we quickly decided on an alternative location and settled at our table for an evening of conversation and camaraderie. For most everyone else, this would probably seem typical, even boring, but in many ways, I was fascinated. While the conversations were some of your typical banter among a group of young professionals (ok, maybe not so much...but again, not having much to compare it to, for all I know discussing dance-offs, past romantic conquests and each other's children with an amazing number of insults flying back and forth and a decent amount of gossip thrown in is the norm), it felt like I was indulging in something more.

My strong need for solitude often prevents me from seeing much beyond the walls I have built to protect myself from intrusion. I am very selective about who I allow in, and even from them, I hold things back. If I let people get too close, I fear I will be vulnerable to future hurt later on...yes, even by co-workers.  Better to be impervious and never let anyone get close than experience pain later on. Silly, I know, but nowhere near as ridiculous as the realization that here were six people whom I have seen every day for the past three months (even longer, really, but only in the past three months have we sat together so closely), and my knowledge about them, their lives, their families, etc. was seriously lacking.

One of the reasons I agreed to come out last night was to learn more about these people for whom I have a great deal of respect. Perhaps I thought a glass of beer may help break through some of the mortar (yes, one beer is all it takes any more to loosen me up a bit) and quash my natural shyness enough to let my guard down. While the beer did have a strange soporific effect, I cannot say that at the end of the night, I was best friends with all of them, planning future happy hours for weeks to come. I can say, though, that as I listened to the conversations, I definitely achieved my goal of learning more about each of them (some details I could have lived without ever hearing...), adding the shades of depth I had been ignoring. Amazing how much more interesting people are when you no longer view them as flat characterizations.

I also felt a slight spark of passion for work reignite. As cheesy as it sounds, if I can connect with the people I work with, I am more inclined to stick around doing something that doesn't always fulfill me a while longer. At the very least, it makes the day pass more quickly when you can participate in all the barbs flying back and forth over the cubicle walls. And right now, finding these kinds of connections are pretty important to maintaining sanity.

How do you connect with others? Are you like me, loath to connect with others out of fear or shyness, so you keep it to a minimum or are you someone compelled to learn anything and everything about someone within the first five minutes of meeting them?  

Secret Obsession

When people at work ask me how my evening went, I offer the non-committal "It was ok."  If they press me to elaborate on what I did, I usually default to saying I did a few chores (cooking and cleaning), went for a walk, and spent the rest of the time reading. For the most part this is true. (Aren't you jealous of the exciting life I lead??)

What I do not share is how I make hours disappear in a catatonic trance, watching my screen intently as my hand automatically points and clicks in the right pattern to destroy rows of gemstones for a countless number of points. Often, I log onto Facebook because it is the only platform I can access this vile time-suck.  Yet, the people of Popcap games have claimed my undivided attention with their deceptively simple Bejeweled Blitz. I know I am not alone, as I can see other friends' scores on the side. However, if ever one of those names gets higher than mine in the list, I feel compelled to continue playing until I am once again on top of the leader board. (In any other part in life, I swear I am not this competitive.)  And if it doesn't happen in ten minutes, I will give myself another ten to make it happen. This pattern continues until my hand cramps from the repetitive motion, I can barely hold my eyes open from exhaustion, or the real world intervenes and I have to do something of value to do.

While no real harm comes of this (at least not as of yet), I still feel silly wasting so much time engaged in an activity that does not bring me any great happiness, lead me on a path to enlightenment, or even keep me in touch with the world around me. How is it that I ended up falling for something so simple, so uncomplicated? Maybe it is because with all the extra stimuli around, it is sometimes necessary to fall into something so simple yet still requires enough focus to make it difficult to think of anything beyond "move this orange gem here, and that will cause the purple triangle to fall and destroy this row..." I always say that I am looking for something to keep my mind quiet. Didn't quite think this would be the answer though :)

What is one thing you are a bit embarrassed to admit that you do that others may find odd (but not really anything all that salacious...perhaps just something unexpected!)?

A Beginning

I used to write all the time. Not just meaningless blog posts that a few of my friends kindly read, but actually stories that I had hoped one day would turn into something more. It isn't so much that I lack ideas--even now, I snippets of stories pop into my head randomly, playing on the edges of my mind begging to be captured and given life. It is that I lack the discipline to see the stories through by discovering the context in which these snippets should be housed.  A scene from the story may be powerful, but without the supporting narrative, it leaves the reader wanting. I am not an established enough writer to do this, and I probably never will be. 

However, in line with the purpose of this blog, I am challenging myself to revisit some of my past works to move them along to a more completed state. Today, I post the beginning of the last story I wrote. It is about four years old (my writers block has been a heavy presence for far too long), and it has a long way to go before it should really be posted, but it is a beginning.  Please forgive some of the hackneyed expressions and overuse of cliche :)

She would not admit that she was lost, maintaining that one could not be lost if she did not have a destination in the first place.  She walked anxiously down the unfamiliar street, looking for places to duck into for shelter in case the threatening gray sky actually opened up with the chilled rain forecast for the afternoon.  Nothing appeared promising. Mist fell from the sky.  Turning up the collar of her thin coat, she walked on. She began to shiver.

Her mind wandered from finding a particular destination to just looking for somewhere to wait out the rain.  The bus would come at 5:00, but it was only 3:00.  She was not ready to head back to the hotel anyway.  She was out wandering these strange streets precisely because she wanted to get away from the hotel.  She feared that a huge confrontation awaited her there, and delaying the inevitable was her most appealing option.  The cold permeated her skin, causing her to ache.  She had to get off the street, but nothing was open.  She came upon a bench, and sat there.  Gathering herself into a little ball to preserve what warmth she could, she gazed ahead of her.  Her situation had no clear solution.  Self-pity enveloped her.

From his window, the young man watched a figure wandering down the street.  He made out that the figure was a young woman, but more than that he could not determine.  To him, she appeared confused and lost, yet determined.  He continued watching her as she drew closer to his apartment building.  As the rain began, he watched as she drew up her collar and bravely faced the weather.  Her shivering soon became apparent, and a twinge of pity touched his heart.  She passed by his window, going only a few feet further and stopping at the bench.  He watched as she curled up like a little child, sheltering herself in the best way possible.  He saw her as something fragile and helpless, and this stirred something within him that led to his grabbing a heavy coat and bolting out of the apartment. 

The shuffling of his boots startled her out of her stupor.  Immediately, she sprang up and started walking down the street.

“Please, don’t go anywhere.  Are you ok?” the words spewed from his mouth in an attempt to stop her before she got very far.  She slowed but didn’t stop completely. 

"You look lost.  If you would like some help, I can get you back to wherever you need to go,” he tried again.  His voice was soft and touched with the beautiful accent characteristic of the area.  Something about it made her stop and even look over her shoulder.  In spite of the rain, he saw that her eyes were red from crying and her cheeks stained with tears. 

“Can you show me how to get to the edge of the world?” she muttered, a bemused smile touching her lips.  “I think that should be far enough away to escape.” 

Not quite sure how to reply, he said the first thing that came to his mind.  “No, but I can show you to my apartment.”

“A bit forward don’t you think?” her face lighting up with a real smile.  “I usually don’t go to a man’s apartment unless I know him, but for you, I might make an exception.”

She thought she caught the hint of a blush, but she could not tell if it was caused by what she said or if the bitter wind was irritating his skin. 

“I appreciate the offer, I really do, but I can’t accept.  I really am not at my best for company at the moment.”  With this she turned on her heel and once again walked into the wind and the rain. 

Before she took two steps, she felt his strong hand on her shoulder and heard his voice saying, “I think you should come with me.  Please.”  Something about his tone, one that was not threatening but rather deeply sympathetic, caused her to acquiesce and follow him to his apartment.

Sprechen Sie Deustch?

Nur ein bisschen, aber ich mochte sprechen besser.

Rothenburg ob der Tauer -- it was when I was visiting here, I realized one semester abroad just wasn't enough.

What is with the German? It all started yesterday, one of those afternoons where the prospect of spending one more minute in an Excel spreadsheet threatened to send even the most stable of people over the edge. The fact that it was sunny, warm, and Friday only heightened my restlessness, so I engaged a good friend in a conversation about what we would do if we didn't have to be sitting in that office.  Not the small kinds of things that we would most likely do once we were free of our cubicles, but the lofty goals, the "If you won the lottery..." kind of scenarios. Not surprisingly, travel was the first on both of our lists, and after going back and forth a bit, we floated back to earth and finished out the projects for the day.

Since that conversation, though, I have put more serious thought into the question. What would I do, really? Well, world travel would be high on my list, but if time and resources weren't and issue, I would do an intensive course studying German in Germany itself, taking the knowledge of my four years in high school studying under the tutelage of Frau Person and her extensive use of the German TV series Forsthaus Falkenau (which I learned from IMDB stayed on the air through 2010! Who knew the Rombach family had enough of a story to last 20+ years?) and moving from basic proficiency to actual fluency.

Seems a bit strange, perhaps, but I have always wanted to be able to converse with someone in a language other than English. I think one can learn a lot about a culture based on the language they speak, not only by learning the rules that govern its structure and meaning, but its adaptability, its vocabulary, etc. Language affects the way in which one thinks and expresses those thoughts. Language is identity. Not to get on to large of a soap box here, but I think learning a foreign language is an important part of any education. Yes, English often seems to be the lingua franca in current society, but it is sheer arrogance to think it should be.

And, really, learning other languages often helps in understanding our own even better. I didn't truly understand sentence structure in English until I had studied German for a couple of years. My couple of semesters of Welsh revealed a language, while sometimes guttural and harsh, possessing an innate musicality harnessed by its greatest poets to establish Wales as a country of bards. Even when listening to my friends chant ancient Greek in college, it was possible to connect the modern version in our language today.

What is the entire point of this post? I guess to say that if I were to take the bold (and crazy) step of leaving my job, the first thing I would want to do is throw myself into learning something new in a location far from home. A more rational approach would be to seek out German classes locally, either offered by a university or a language school. Doing that at least would be a step toward one of my life's goals, and it wouldn't impoverish me in the process. Still, it wouldn't be quite as exciting...

What would you do if you were to take a bold step away from the daily grind--or perhaps you already have?

Happy St. Patrick's Day

I would be remiss if I did not wish you all a happy St. Patrick's Day, so in honor of my family heritage and the good people of Ireland, here are few of my favorite pictures from this amazing place.

Celtic cross on the cost of Dun Aengus.

The Cliffs of Moher

The Dingle Peninsula

I have many fond memories of the West Coast of Ireland, particularly the cities of Galway and Killarney, but those are stories for another post!

Springtime

I think it is actually here.  No more false alarms or merciless teasing.  Winter seems finally to be taking its leave of the Kansas City area, and I for one am ready to fully embrace the beginning of spring.  The past couple of days have been picture perfect.  Sunny and warm, but not too hot.  Add on the extra hour of daylight after work (the only good thing about losing an hour of sleep on Sunday), and there is every reason to be outdoors, soaking it all in.

I never realized the true beauty of spring until having lived in an area that experiences real winter.  (Sorry, Texas. Temperatures dropping below freezing every so often from December through February don't really count.)  While I appreciate that all seasons have a unique beauty--for all its hassles, there is nothing like a pure blanket of snow to make even the grimiest of views look magnificent--spring is the one that excites me most.  Perhaps it is all the pent up energy that has been building since the short days have kept me indoors.  Maybe it is being able to leave the house without five layers on to keep out the cold. Most likely though, it is watching a city come to awaken from its hibernation.  

After work yesterday, I went for a long walk.  I started out on the local Trolley Trail with no real destination in mind.  Fairly quickly, I reached the end of this particular leg of the trail, but my feet compelled me further.  I crossed over the creek toward the Country Club Plaza (one of Kansas City's greatest treasures), but not wanting to make my way through the crowds of people or the crush of cars, I veered east and headed to one of my absolute favorite places in Kansas City.  It was as if my feet knew exactly what I needed without having to let my head in on the secret.

Looming over a meticulously manicured lawn stands the neoclassical building housing the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art. Inside are masterpieces from all over the world, from ancient Egypt to Renaissance Italy to modern America.  Each wing of the museum could make one pause for some time, and an entire may be lost in its premises.  I passed several winter days here quite contentedly, but I have to admit that I longed for it to be warm enough outside to bask in the sun.  

Because as impressive as everything inside happens to be, I find more to do on the outside.  Whether it be strolling through the sculpture garden (of which, the most distinguishable pieces are the gigantic shuttlecocks) or finding a bench to sit and read, there is plenty to do or see.  I have seen flag football games played on the lawn.  I have seen people flying kites. I have even seen people performing plays.  The randomness of what one may encounter is one of the things that keeps drawing me back.

It is a place where can watch smiling families enjoy a picnic, new couples enjoying a romantic stroll, or artists honing their skills.  It is a place I can sit by myself and read a book without fear of interruption. I imagine it is  a place I could write if I ever find the nerve to start crafting stories again. But none of these possibilities occur to me during the winter.  Like the rest of the city, my mind is shaking off the slumber of the winter and waking up alive and refreshed.  And maybe, just maybe, I can find a way to capture the essence of spring and have it sustain me all year through.

Do you have a place you gravitate to? If so, what makes it so special for you?

(Amazingly enough, I do not have any of my own pictures of the museum.  I never really have been much of a photographer.  I promise to have a camera with me next time I start to wander!)*


Addendum:  Went for a walk this evening and took some photos: 

Southern side of the museum. This is where I usually hang out.

Northern entrance.  Love the reflection pond.

Smile

There is so much sadness in the world right now, both on a global scale and in the lives of many of my friends that I find it hard to know what to say.  I could discuss the devastation plaguing the people of Japan, the ongoing turmoil in Libya, or any number of the other tragedies to be found in the news today. I choose not to do this, though, because while the troubles of the world are important and deserve our attention, I think sometimes we burden ourselves with so much information to the point of feeling hopeless.  With so much despair in the world, it seems wrong to be happy.

I won't even pretend that things will go back to how they were.  The world is ever evolving, and no matter how much we may want to stop it from spinning for even a second, we don't have that kind of control.  So we must learn to live with what we know to be true, and we must look to each other for support. Remember the things that make us happy, that make us laugh out loud. And that even in the darkest of times, there is a reason smile.

My reasons to smile:  

Friends, new and old who support, encourage, and understand

Family, who no matter how crazy, are always there for me

(a special shout out to my cousins, who are still young enough to be absolutely adorable :)

Spring and sunshine

Watching people jam out to the radio on their commute home 

This photo and all the memories it represents

What makes you smile?

On a Lighter Note...

So, as I read through my last post, I realized it was heavy on the angst and light on humor (it is important to provide some balance).  I promise I really do not go through all of my life pondering deep philosophical questions or pining for the good old days...just every other Saturday, when there is a full moon, and the entire month of February.

That out of the way, as a kind of get-to-know-me better exercise, I thought I would list six fun facts about me.  (The hard part is thinking of six facts that the majority of my audience doesn't already know!  And facts that may be considered fun.)  Regardless, here are things you may not know about me:

• My favorite childhood stuffed animal, my rabbit Peta, has a special place in my room.  I received her from my Grandma and Grandpa Tanner for Easter when I was six (her back story, about her life before she arrived in Texas is quite elaborate, if you are ever interested), and she has pretty much been at my side ever since...seriously, she has traveled to the Vatican, Ireland, Chicago, and Oregon, among other locales.  She is notorious for causing trouble and has a reputation as a serious drinker...

Trip to Oregon 2007

• When I was in the fourth grade, I had a singing part in the school Christmas pageant.  I played the music teacher.  I sang the song "Everybody Wants to be Santa."  At random times, the only part of the song I remember runs through my brain. It is one of those songs that should never have been written.  And no, there is no photographic evidence of this particular event...

• My favorite food is bread. Seriously. If you were to look in my grocery cart on any given week, you will most likely find at least three types of bread. Sometimes I wonder if I look crazy having a loaf of bread and a package of bagels and a package of English muffins in my cart. (Because I often visit more than one grocery store when shopping, though, I spread out my bread purchases a bit so it doesn't look like I am living on rations of bread and water...or in my case, bread and Diet Dr. Pepper)

• I am the highly suggestible type.  If you are a passionate, charismatic speaker, I am likely to buy into your message with little urging, at least for the next few days.  Knowing that, if you are a scam artist, there is only a short window of opportunity to capitalize on my naivete. After that, my critical thinking skills (and skepticism) kick in, and the promise of buying an acre on the moon for ten payments of $19.99 or of happiness being five steps away with the purchase of this handy-dandy manual  seem a little less like the world's best investment. 

• At one point in my life, I could recite the dialog for just about every Simpsons episode from seasons one through about ten.  This strange talent emerged after my decision to forgo the evermore depressing national news in favor of that quirky family in Springfield throughout my high school years.  Who needs to memorize great works of literature when one can focus her brain power on pop culture icons instead?

• While the thought of speaking up in a meeting at work or talking with a stranger makes me physically ill, I have no problem singing every week at church in front of at least a hundred other people. And I don't do this as a member of a larger choir.  Most often, it is just the accompanist, the music minister, and me. At least during some parts of the service it is just me. And even though I know that music ministry is to enhance the worship experience of others, I recognize that this is my one little way into the spotlight. (Really, I would be flattering myself too many people take notice)  There must be something about the separation between me and those who are in the church that makes it easy to do this.  

There you have it. Something with a bit of randomness to it.  I encourage you to post a fun fact about yourself because really, who wants only to hear about me?

Imagination

Like many children, when asked what I wanted to be, I answered with a multi-hyphenate: doctor-veterinarian-marine biologist-super spy-restauranteur-archeologist-author, at least to begin with.  Why choose one path when there were so many areas to explore?  In my child's mind, options were limitless, time infinite.  I had an imagination that could not be rivaled (or so hindsight tells me now).  At my peak of childhood creativity (sometime during fourth and fifth grade), I wrote some of my most daring stories.  True, they may have lacked sophistication and polish, but they were infused with honesty, wonder, and a genuine enthusiasm for creating the world as I had wanted it to be.  In many ways, I was still in control of what would happen next.

But sometime around sixth grade, pragmatism crept in, at first chipping away at the fragile base of my imagination and then completely blowing it away. Soon, my writing stopped being reflective of the world as I wanted it to be, but instead it became a regurgitated image of the world others wanted me to see.  I became adept at crafting essays that my teachers wanted to read, at shutting the part of my brain off that questioned why to insure I would get the praise and acceptance I so desperately wanted. A girl of my intelligence and ability was destined for great things--that is  college, maybe grad school, and a job, most likely working in a school or a corporate office. Not bad things in themselves, but not at all the path I had imagined for myself so long ago.  Still, because I hated to disappoint, I embraced this as my fate.  I managed to add a personal twist along the way (studying abroad, doing a year of volunteer service), but except for those isolated instances of rebellion, I more or less became what others thought I would.     

I know I am not alone in feeling that with maturity, the ability to re-imagine the world for the better is lost, or at the very least, muted. I am beginning to wonder, though, if it is possible for some catalyst to revive it from its dormant state. When I look at those who I deem extraordinary, the one thing I notice they have in common is a dynamic imagination unfettered from fear.  What is their secret?  Anyone out there who is willing to share how to move beyond fear and embrace the world and all its possibilities?

A Short Introduction

So, here it is.  My first grand attempt to enter into the world of blogging.  I won't even begin to claim that what I do in this space will be anything more than creating additional noise in an already chaotic space.  Really, it is my selfish attempt to harness the frenetic thoughts running through my brain and order them into some form of controlled chaos.

That said, why the wayward journey?  The honest answer?  I couldn't think of anything better at the time I plunged into creating this blog.  (I had to jump in head first, otherwise, I would have just walked away from it completely.)  While much of my life has been fairly traditional, I am most proud of the choices I have made that led me astray, that made me unique, and that made me richer and my life deeper.  And while right now I find myself mired in the traditional, a small part of me hopes that through blogging about the choices of my past and my aspirations for the future, I will somehow be able to find my own way again.