So, for now at least, I think Tuesday will be "spiritual tuesday". Here I will share different incites that I have learned either at church, on my own or at Institute (which is pretty much a Bible Study collage class that also include other scripture)
Alma 8:15 "Blessed art thou, Alma; therefore, lift up thy head and rejoice, for thou hast great cause to rejoice; for thou hast been faithful in keeping the commandments of God from the time which thou receivedst thy first message from him. Behold, I am he that delivered it unto you."
In this scripture this guy, Alma, is sad and discouraged and here comes an Angel to visit. How cool would that be, but then when you think about it this happens all the time. An angel could be a friend, family member or complete stranger that happens to be there at the right time and in the right place. This makes me think of a movie, "Almost an Angel" it's one of my favorite movies of all time but is really hard to find on dvd since it was never put out commercially.
The Lord prepares people to help us we may not know who, where or why. We may even think 'someone for me?' and shake our head disbelievingly. It's true. One of my favorite songs is "Gotta be Somebody" by Nickelback. We may not know it but the Lord prepares people and prepares us and "Somewhere out there", there is somebody being prepared for each of us to help us be the best people we can be.
The Adversary will take our flaws and magnify/ distort them. Either HE will make us believe that our flaws make us think we are worse then we really are or he makes them seem to be not that bad. Whenever we take our flaws to the extreme it is important to take a step back and evaluate. Is it really that bad? or, Is this something that is worse than I feel it is? Either way, it is good to avoid the extreme and simply try to live life as the best you that you can be. Enjoy life. Be happy. And do what you feel is right, what you truly feel in your heart.
02 February 2010
01 February 2010
The answer
Today is my first try at "cool fact monday". Once a week, on monday, I will pull out a random fact I learned that week. This could be something I learned in class, heard on the radio, read in a book or wherever.
Today's cool fact comes from my astronomy teacher, Prof Smith. He was talking about rainbows and how the light hitting at 42 degree angle is what is needed to cause the effect of the rainbow. Then he went to say that "the answer to life, the universe, and everything" is really 42. He stated that in nature that number is everywhere. This number is fundamental in the makings of the universe.
So then I did some research on the internet and found this statement."Our galaxy weighs three times 10 to the power of 42kg - a number written as 3 followed by 42 zeroes" I'm not very good at math so I can't verify the accuracy of this statement but it sure sounds good to me.
So if you ever sit and wonder about your existence on this planet and what the answer to life and well, pretty much everything. Just relax and know that the answer is really 42 and that should clear everything up.
Today's cool fact comes from my astronomy teacher, Prof Smith. He was talking about rainbows and how the light hitting at 42 degree angle is what is needed to cause the effect of the rainbow. Then he went to say that "the answer to life, the universe, and everything" is really 42. He stated that in nature that number is everywhere. This number is fundamental in the makings of the universe.
So then I did some research on the internet and found this statement."Our galaxy weighs three times 10 to the power of 42kg - a number written as 3 followed by 42 zeroes" I'm not very good at math so I can't verify the accuracy of this statement but it sure sounds good to me.
So if you ever sit and wonder about your existence on this planet and what the answer to life and well, pretty much everything. Just relax and know that the answer is really 42 and that should clear everything up.
31 January 2010
Friends
Friends are special and important for everyone.
Sometimes you need a shoulder to cry on.
Sometimes you need someone to simply listen.
Sometimes you need to laugh.
Sometimes you need to be destracted.
Sometimes you need to do the listening.
Sometimes you need to watch a movie.
Sometimes you need to have fabulous homecooked food.
Sometimes you need a "poke" in the right direction.
Sometimes you need a warm body to fall asleep on.
Sometimes you need a friend.
There are many fabulous people in my life that are so important and special to me and I need them more than sometimes. I hope that everyone can have good friends in their life to lift them when their down and to be lifted. It's a two way street.
Today was be a friend day and it looks like the memo got out. =)
Sometimes you need a shoulder to cry on.
Sometimes you need someone to simply listen.
Sometimes you need to laugh.
Sometimes you need to be destracted.
Sometimes you need to do the listening.
Sometimes you need to watch a movie.
Sometimes you need to have fabulous homecooked food.
Sometimes you need a "poke" in the right direction.
Sometimes you need a warm body to fall asleep on.
Sometimes you need a friend.
There are many fabulous people in my life that are so important and special to me and I need them more than sometimes. I hope that everyone can have good friends in their life to lift them when their down and to be lifted. It's a two way street.
Today was be a friend day and it looks like the memo got out. =)
30 January 2010
Death of a dormouse
MARTHA:
When I was a young girl, I had a pet. Not many young girls had pets of their own. There’d be family pets or pets that belonged to one of the parents. Boys would have pets. Albeit most mothers didn’t know half the pets their boys would keep in the house. Rats from under the floorboards, bugs out of the garden, frogs from a scum filled creek or marsh, snakes and even flies. Boys could have pets, but girls? Girls were pretty. They played with dolls and had tea parties. If they had a pet it would be a Poodle, Pomeranian or maybe a fluffy Persian cat. Not me. I got me a dormouse. My parents didn’t mind or at least my mother didn’t. She said it was good to broaden my horizons and try new things. A pet was an important responsibility that would teach me life lessons or something like that. I agreed with everything she said, anything to get me a pet. I named her Daisy, because that’s how she smelled. She was a beautiful flower of a mouse, with deep, beady black eyes. She was smart too. We did everything together. I would color or do my homework and Daisy would scamper back and forth watching me. She would follow the pencil with her nose, almost catlike. She helped me play the piano, even though she didn’t weigh enough to push down any of the keys. I’d even take her for walks in my jacket pocket. She loved being in my pocket. We could go in the kitchen, out to the market or even school and nobody would know she was there. My step-daddy never liked her though, I could tell. He never said anything, never yelled or nothin’. Sometimes he would even smile when Daisy’d do some neat trick or scamper up my arm. I didn’t know it then, but it was all an act. Secretly he’d been plotting a way to rid himself of my dormouse. Then one day momma found rat droppings near the flour. Well my Step-daddy ddin’t want no rodents getting’ into our food so he ran to the garage. When he came back, he was holdin’ some type of poison. Momma told him not to spray it out, but he didn’t listen. We had to leave the house for nearly the WHOLE day. I tried to find Daisy but my step-daddy’d already sprayed the house and we had to go NOW. Momma dragged me out kicken’ and screamen’, but she hauled me out anyways. That was when I heard the squeak. Daisy ran cross the living room to the door I was standing at and I picked her up right before Momma grabbed my elbow and yanked me out of the house. I didn’t notice until a few days later that Daisy was acting real strange. She wasn’t as fast or smart as she used to be. She’d even leave messes all over the place for me to clean up. You know, the type of messes people don’t like to talk about, the messes people make in the bathroom. Anyways, three days later she was dead. I yelled at my step-father, calling him every name I could think of. “Murderer!” I’d shout anytime I saw him. For weeks I followed him around, “You killed my mouse. You did it on purpose. You’re a filthy murderer.” Since that day, I cannot think of death, without thinking of that nasty guilt I shot at my step-father.
****************************************************************************
“Deaths dark door creaked daintily open in gradual progression. Defenses were down dispensing the desired response. She screamed. She cried. Nothing could deter the dauntingly despicable dread deaths daring entrance had deliberately caused. Distractedly she drew a breath dispersing dreadful thoughts. Daisy, her delicate delightful pet dormouse, died that day of a definitely deliberate predicament. Her despotic but daft stepfather had delivered deadly poison deceitfully delighting in dispatching destruction. Depression drowned her distracted mind dispatching disgust, distress and dreadful doubt. Despite diplomatic diligence designed to dispel despair, his exhausted declarations landed on deaf, disappointed ears. His decadent decorum was driving her daunting mind delirious. Despair caused debatable decision, from distinguished distress, to demonstrate deliberate disapproval of his devilish deed.”
When I was a young girl, I had a pet. Not many young girls had pets of their own. There’d be family pets or pets that belonged to one of the parents. Boys would have pets. Albeit most mothers didn’t know half the pets their boys would keep in the house. Rats from under the floorboards, bugs out of the garden, frogs from a scum filled creek or marsh, snakes and even flies. Boys could have pets, but girls? Girls were pretty. They played with dolls and had tea parties. If they had a pet it would be a Poodle, Pomeranian or maybe a fluffy Persian cat. Not me. I got me a dormouse. My parents didn’t mind or at least my mother didn’t. She said it was good to broaden my horizons and try new things. A pet was an important responsibility that would teach me life lessons or something like that. I agreed with everything she said, anything to get me a pet. I named her Daisy, because that’s how she smelled. She was a beautiful flower of a mouse, with deep, beady black eyes. She was smart too. We did everything together. I would color or do my homework and Daisy would scamper back and forth watching me. She would follow the pencil with her nose, almost catlike. She helped me play the piano, even though she didn’t weigh enough to push down any of the keys. I’d even take her for walks in my jacket pocket. She loved being in my pocket. We could go in the kitchen, out to the market or even school and nobody would know she was there. My step-daddy never liked her though, I could tell. He never said anything, never yelled or nothin’. Sometimes he would even smile when Daisy’d do some neat trick or scamper up my arm. I didn’t know it then, but it was all an act. Secretly he’d been plotting a way to rid himself of my dormouse. Then one day momma found rat droppings near the flour. Well my Step-daddy ddin’t want no rodents getting’ into our food so he ran to the garage. When he came back, he was holdin’ some type of poison. Momma told him not to spray it out, but he didn’t listen. We had to leave the house for nearly the WHOLE day. I tried to find Daisy but my step-daddy’d already sprayed the house and we had to go NOW. Momma dragged me out kicken’ and screamen’, but she hauled me out anyways. That was when I heard the squeak. Daisy ran cross the living room to the door I was standing at and I picked her up right before Momma grabbed my elbow and yanked me out of the house. I didn’t notice until a few days later that Daisy was acting real strange. She wasn’t as fast or smart as she used to be. She’d even leave messes all over the place for me to clean up. You know, the type of messes people don’t like to talk about, the messes people make in the bathroom. Anyways, three days later she was dead. I yelled at my step-father, calling him every name I could think of. “Murderer!” I’d shout anytime I saw him. For weeks I followed him around, “You killed my mouse. You did it on purpose. You’re a filthy murderer.” Since that day, I cannot think of death, without thinking of that nasty guilt I shot at my step-father.
****************************************************************************
“Deaths dark door creaked daintily open in gradual progression. Defenses were down dispensing the desired response. She screamed. She cried. Nothing could deter the dauntingly despicable dread deaths daring entrance had deliberately caused. Distractedly she drew a breath dispersing dreadful thoughts. Daisy, her delicate delightful pet dormouse, died that day of a definitely deliberate predicament. Her despotic but daft stepfather had delivered deadly poison deceitfully delighting in dispatching destruction. Depression drowned her distracted mind dispatching disgust, distress and dreadful doubt. Despite diplomatic diligence designed to dispel despair, his exhausted declarations landed on deaf, disappointed ears. His decadent decorum was driving her daunting mind delirious. Despair caused debatable decision, from distinguished distress, to demonstrate deliberate disapproval of his devilish deed.”
29 January 2010
The incredible whining dog strikes again
So, today is another personal experience to do with the dog, "Tiny", that I am watching. This, now white, dog, which of course needs another bath, is now causing more trouble. This can be expected from a poodle the size of a football. Small dogs just love yapping and being trouble. Although, as mentioned before, this dog does not yap. He whines.
Periodically I take this "adorable" [roll eyes] little pup to see his "mommy". (By pup, I mean a dog that is now about 16 years of age but still leaps around like a little puppy.) Well the first couple times he was real good and gave his "mommy" kisses and cuddled with her. Then came the fateful time that I dropped him off to visit while I ran errands. When I came to pick him up, he was more excited to see me and couldn't wait to get out the door. His "mom" didn't seem to notice that he wasn't even coming to say goodbye to her. I quickly picked him up and put him on her lap, before she could notice that he was only staring at me and waiting to leave.
A couple days later I took him back to see her. Secretly I was hoping that the last time was a fluke. Nope. This time was worse. When I came to pick him up his "mom" said that all he did was stare at the door and whine for me to come back, instead of visiting with her. WHAT?!?!
I already knew that he was more attached to me than anyone else watching him or here at the house. I knew that. But....she was his "mom" and he had spent most of his life with her...and...and...
I resolved that this would have to stop. I decided to give him less attention and keep my house more like a kennel. Already he is hooked up on a leash when inside the house. I take him out regularly to do his business and feed him in the morning. He doesn't even sleep with me or in my room. He sleeps with my grandma. I did everything I could to create a more business relationship, instead of being a surrogate mom.
Then a few days later, I took him back to see his "mom". When I came to pick him up...
It was the same thing. It doesn't matter what I do. Whether I try or don't try he has decided to attach himself to me. Grammy feeds him treats and gives him more attention and is there all the time. You'd think that would matter, but to Tiny, it doesn't. So, like it or not, the incredible whining dog now thinks he is MY incredible whining dog. Apparently that won’t change until he is able to go home for good. After a few days of being with his mother and not seeing me, which he won’t unless she needs a dog sitter for a day or so sometime in the not so near future, he will be reaclimated to his house and his "mother".
I sure hope so...
Periodically I take this "adorable" [roll eyes] little pup to see his "mommy". (By pup, I mean a dog that is now about 16 years of age but still leaps around like a little puppy.) Well the first couple times he was real good and gave his "mommy" kisses and cuddled with her. Then came the fateful time that I dropped him off to visit while I ran errands. When I came to pick him up, he was more excited to see me and couldn't wait to get out the door. His "mom" didn't seem to notice that he wasn't even coming to say goodbye to her. I quickly picked him up and put him on her lap, before she could notice that he was only staring at me and waiting to leave.
A couple days later I took him back to see her. Secretly I was hoping that the last time was a fluke. Nope. This time was worse. When I came to pick him up his "mom" said that all he did was stare at the door and whine for me to come back, instead of visiting with her. WHAT?!?!
I already knew that he was more attached to me than anyone else watching him or here at the house. I knew that. But....she was his "mom" and he had spent most of his life with her...and...and...
I resolved that this would have to stop. I decided to give him less attention and keep my house more like a kennel. Already he is hooked up on a leash when inside the house. I take him out regularly to do his business and feed him in the morning. He doesn't even sleep with me or in my room. He sleeps with my grandma. I did everything I could to create a more business relationship, instead of being a surrogate mom.
Then a few days later, I took him back to see his "mom". When I came to pick him up...
It was the same thing. It doesn't matter what I do. Whether I try or don't try he has decided to attach himself to me. Grammy feeds him treats and gives him more attention and is there all the time. You'd think that would matter, but to Tiny, it doesn't. So, like it or not, the incredible whining dog now thinks he is MY incredible whining dog. Apparently that won’t change until he is able to go home for good. After a few days of being with his mother and not seeing me, which he won’t unless she needs a dog sitter for a day or so sometime in the not so near future, he will be reaclimated to his house and his "mother".
I sure hope so...
28 January 2010
Time to get with the program
Soooooooooo.........I'm still fine tuning the details right now but I'm thinking of structuring my blog a little more. So far it's been 5 days and I've posted a blog a day and so far I have posted 70 blogs since setting this up. I'll be it they haven't all been substantial in content, but that will come with time. Or it wont. We shall see.
To add more structure to my blog I was thinking of having certain days set aside for a specific topic. Now this is subject to change, but I would like to have a day set aside for short stories. ~gasp~ I know, I know. This is uncharted territory for me, but seeing as I am taking a literature class....well....I just got the inspiration while sitting in class. Actually, I've got a whole wash of inspiration today it nearly knocked my socks off and sent my soul to fly around the world. That type of thing used to be a daily, hourly, occurrence and then left. Well now it's back and in full force.
So I figured a weekend would be good for stories so I'm going to try Saturday. Lets see how long this lasts. Short Story Saturday, has a nice ring to it. So be prepared to be dazzled with a poorly written but outstanding short story.
I'm also thinking of Cool Fact Monday to start the week off with some piece of useless but interesting information. There will still be a couple days a week for personal stuff that nobody cares about, like the dog I'm watching, how life is going or something like that. If I'm on the band wagon with my old stuff I may even set aside a day to post poetry, songs, stories or other things that I had written a long long time ago in a class room far away, or playground or maybe even a park.
So there it is, the one thing you can be sure about is that you can look forward to a story on Saturday and a random fact on Monday. All the other days, random for now.
To add more structure to my blog I was thinking of having certain days set aside for a specific topic. Now this is subject to change, but I would like to have a day set aside for short stories. ~gasp~ I know, I know. This is uncharted territory for me, but seeing as I am taking a literature class....well....I just got the inspiration while sitting in class. Actually, I've got a whole wash of inspiration today it nearly knocked my socks off and sent my soul to fly around the world. That type of thing used to be a daily, hourly, occurrence and then left. Well now it's back and in full force.
So I figured a weekend would be good for stories so I'm going to try Saturday. Lets see how long this lasts. Short Story Saturday, has a nice ring to it. So be prepared to be dazzled with a poorly written but outstanding short story.
I'm also thinking of Cool Fact Monday to start the week off with some piece of useless but interesting information. There will still be a couple days a week for personal stuff that nobody cares about, like the dog I'm watching, how life is going or something like that. If I'm on the band wagon with my old stuff I may even set aside a day to post poetry, songs, stories or other things that I had written a long long time ago in a class room far away, or playground or maybe even a park.
So there it is, the one thing you can be sure about is that you can look forward to a story on Saturday and a random fact on Monday. All the other days, random for now.
27 January 2010
Bad Poetry
Last night was a full night of half asleep, bad poetry. I thought about and even planned on posting some here just for the sake of posting. Then I realized just how much work this poetry needed just to even be a little comprehending. I have about 10 pages of hand written crap all over my notebook. I'm organizing to some degree. I'm only partially cleaning up and then should be hopefully adding the poems to this blog at a later date. Even so, it will still remain bad poetry, but it is still poetry. I haven't written a poem since middle school.
Interesting enough, after middle school, all I could write was songs. Poems didn't flow for me, even though the songs could be read as poems. Then, around 2004 or 2005 I lost my regular song inspiration and haven't felt it since. Since then, I have been writing chapters to my books but then about a year ago I stopped even doing that.
Now, I have a goal to write a blog a day. Apperantly my inspiration for poetry has returned, we shall see if the others return as well.
Interesting enough, after middle school, all I could write was songs. Poems didn't flow for me, even though the songs could be read as poems. Then, around 2004 or 2005 I lost my regular song inspiration and haven't felt it since. Since then, I have been writing chapters to my books but then about a year ago I stopped even doing that.
Now, I have a goal to write a blog a day. Apperantly my inspiration for poetry has returned, we shall see if the others return as well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
