The Hitchhiker's Love Song

We see each other all the time. He'd strap a polaroid camera around his neck, collect a picnic basket and me in the beat up old truck and we'd ride - hours of sunshine and starlight, laughing at the giddy polaroids gathering in the backseat. The AC pumped out an intoxicating blend of summertime and memory and we laughed more, drunk it in, heady as an October evening. The stereo was the sound of our heartbeats, ribboning forth like a kickdrum, eternal as the wind.

We stopped often at first, doing nothing much - checking the headlights before it got dark, keeping time by the blinkers, taking laughing polaroids of the rest stops and state lines, of the two of us chewing sandwiches served from paper sacks. Lately, we've just driven and driven even though the farming towns and railroad tracks are forgotten before they're even seen. We ignore the exit signs now, ignore the restaurants and their gaudy paper napkins, just keep on driving.

We could drive like this forever, you know.

I like it when you drive better. It frees up my hands to ruffle your hair when the wind musses it and to grip the consul between us when the road turns or you start going very fast.

I tease you about your grandfatherly driving, the left-right-left-again adage and driving slow being more than just a big laugh. But we laugh anyway, you and I.

Our favorite time of day is just before the sun begins to set. In this golden light, everyone is beautiful and even our polaroids look simply lovely. Maybe it's the colorblindness you have that perceives the world in whites and greens,  or my rose-colored sunglasses, but even we are beautiful at twilight.

Sometimes, late at night, by moon or clouded skies, we pull the car to the side of the road and look at each other in the silvery grey light that follows the golden evening. Our eyes glow like nocturnal creatures and sometimes we grow afraid. Usually, we sit there in silence, our lungs heaving up the taste of memory and, still in silence, our fingers lace together like shoestrings.

Neither one of us ever stops the radio, except in those silent times without laughter. We need the sound to show us that the car is alive and will keep on running. We learn to listen for our heartbeats on the radio, proving that we are alive too. Because if all the polaroids are any measure, we're going to be here a long while yet. The wind and road signs remind us that we have a very long way to go until we get to the Pacific Ocean or Mount McKinley or the Continental Divide or wherever this old truck is taking us.  The silences will grow and the pictures will discolor. But as long as we're still here and not hitchhiking back alone, we know it's all going to be okay.

"Okay," I say, and we miss another turn.

"Okay," you reply, and crank up the radio, where our hearts beat in stereo sound.

And we know that no matter what happens, if the radio is running, the car will keep on going, and everything will be golden.

The Wedding Dancer

I remember him well
The shepherd with the lute
Such a sweet boy
Such a sweet, sweet sad boy
I loved him with every part of my voice
I never did know her name,
The fanged little wolf that stole
his heart, which I'd always thought
would be forever free.
Maybe I love him still.
I'll dance at his wedding, forgetting.

I remember her too
She was a small sparrow
One wing was clipped military short
She perched on my shoulder
She was my song and my sighing
I loved her more than anyone
She was my child
He loved her too, with his overalls
His overlarge hat
His heart wide open so
I could see he loved her
He loved her best, the sparrow
And I was glad to give her away
But how I miss her
I loved her too, thought
Maybe more purely than the other
It's okay.
I'll dance the Lindy Hop at her wedding
In my red shoes.

He's not a memory yet
The White Knight, I loved him too
My poor heart could never quite
But that's not important
The White Knight came green
and wounded and I loved him from the beginning
He was as beautiful as a Mid-Atlantic
Snowstorm. His sword
Was rusty but his pipes were fresh.
I love him still.
I've always known about her, too.
As long as I've known him,
I've known the White Knight
was meant for a princess
not a Lady of the Lake
or dancer
I've always loved you for someone else
And that's okay.
I always will.
That's why I'm the Lady of the Lake.
I love you, I
Promise I do.
And, I am not so broken, you know
I will dance at your wedding.

I fall in love with a bird and live

Once upon a time, there was a little worm-girl. She lived in the quietest part of a garden, under hte shade of a wild-haired tulip.

There was not one thing special about this worm. She was not important, she was not talented, she was not (certainly not!) pretty. The easiest way to describe her is a Nobody among Nobodies.

The grown-up worms knew her to be a simple-hearted little thing with no big aspirations and no big exceptional traits, but a big heart - big for a worm, that is. The boy worms were blinded by her blindness and usually mistook her for a ladybug. Ladybugs are good at listening, but are usually too prim and proper to be friends.

Maybe they were right. She was a very blind worm, and not very important at all. Either way, she listened a lot, and she loved to listen. But she still couldn't see and maybe that was her biggest fault.

One day, she was squalling about in the shade of the garden. It was so bright and hot and her skin hurt. She, in her ungainly worm fashion, squinted her forehead where her eyes would  have been and squirmed uncomfortably away. She thought about the sun and the other worms and the tulips and suddenly wished she weren't blind even though she'd know how ugly she was.

"Hello, girl."

She froze. She knew that voice. It was a bird, one of the bright winged creatures who are as full of light as they are of air and beauty. They also eat worms. "Hello, bird." She said. She flails side to side, trying to face him as best as one can with no face.

"Don't trouble yourself," he said softly. He hopped around to face her. "Are you alright, girl?"

She can't remember the last time she was alright.And she knew birds. They tried to be kind, but they're so beautiful, so undeniably better, that they end up devouring poor worms like her. "What do you want from me?" She said.

He waits a long time to answer. When he does, his voice is soft as warm poppy petals. "Just... just to love you." he says quietly. "To be friends. You've always been kind."

Not to wild birds. "Thanks, but not really. I'm not kind." she says, worming her tail awkwardly backward.

"Yes, you are. You've always listened and cared and asked and been kind to me. I-" he hesitates. "Don't you remember how kind you are to me?"

"I do not know you." What a sorry thing to say. "I'm sorry, but I don't."

"That's okay." he says, and he's not quite disappointed. "I think we are friends."

"Okay."

"I think," he hesitates again. "I think I, maybe, love you." It sounds like a question.

She didn't answer, because birds can't really love worms, not really. They may care, they may be merciful or even kind, possibly sweet, but never ever can they really love worms. Where would they live?

She wishes she could have seen how he looked when he said it though.

He did keep coming back, the bird boy, every day. They did nothing together. She couldn't really fly with him, and there was nothing that she would like him to see about her home. So they lazed. They listened. They sat. They talked. They were together.

"Tell me about seeing," She said. They're sitting in the sunshine. Her tail is would around his talons.

"It's amazing." His breath and his wings are against her back. She sighs, because it's good to be together and alive together. "The world is very bright." he continues.

"Okay."

"I see things as they seem, I think. It's not like what you do, dear."

"Okay."

He stirs a little. "I love you."

Before she can talk herself out of the glimpse of light she just had, she says, "I love you too."

Oh no! She is blind. She is a blind ugly worm. She can not love him. He can not love her, but even less can she love him. "No! No, I can not love you." She gulps down a pocket of tears. "I am a worm and you are a bird."

"You don't understand. Love isn't like that."

"A bird can not love a worm, my dear. Where would they live?" She says, and the world is very very dark again.

A blink of light. "We are each other. Not a bird, nor a worm. We are who we are."

A blink of tears. "No, you can't do that. Don't become a worm for me."

His wings move. "I've always been a worm. It was you who first called me a bird."

All of a sudden, she remembers who he is and why he knew they were friends. But she knew him, once a long time ago, not as the bird that he is, but as one of the other wailing worms. She had listened to him.

"But I feel your wings." She says, stubbornly. "You are more than you think you are. How could you be a worm?"

He smiles. "Sometimes love goes by many names. Sometimes, its best name is blindness."

Love is neither sight nor blindness.

"No." She says. "Love's name is not blindness. Love is what is real, it is a realization. You are a bird. My blindness gave love realization."

"Do you not feel your wings?" he says softly. "My sight will realize your reality, too."

She is not a worm. He is not a bird. They are real and the in between of wings and worms is where they live.

when hearts are many-faced

My heart has many faces, and all of them are turned toward many yous.

I miss our impromptu singing.

 I miss looking at you and the telepathic connection unfolding.

I miss knowing your heart and reading your face.

 I miss dancing.

 I miss long travel days.

I miss setting food aside for you when you’re too busy to eat.

I miss getting texts from you when we’re sitting across from each other in boring meetings.

 I miss pinning on your nametag and fixing your hair.

I miss apples and peanut butter and bran muffins and chocolate chip cookie dough.

I miss  sitting under blankets and hammocks and the way you smell early in the morning.

I miss stairwells and bad food days and the weird smell of Wendell’s office

.I miss the broken oven and the uncomfortable futons and people being everywhere.

I miss laughing till we make the sun rise at night.

I miss your laugh and your voice and your smile and the way your eyes become soft as cotton candy right before your heart leaps from your lips.

 I miss times when you told me your secrets and we cried.

 I miss you.If you were a person, you’d be a many-faced person.

If you were a heart, you’d be a many-faced heart. And I think we are more or less a person, because I think we are more or less a lonely bride. And I think we are more or less a heart, because I feel us beating each other sometimes.

 I miss lots of things today. And it’s good to miss and it’s good to remember and it’s good to care that the pieces of my heart - the pieces of his heart - will someday be gathered, and we’ll have one face. Then there will be no more missing at all, because we will be one.

College students, I would love you more.

They walk with heads up, eyes open.

I look at them (hoping to ignore how brown my salad is) and I can't help but believe that though they're looking around, their noses are still buried in books, or gleefully smelling the intoxicating perfume that is fantasy. Although time is passing (I still very much hear the endlessly pounding fountain) many are still brushing sleep off their eyes and into their slippers.

Is it just me, or do they all look the same? Same half-glazed eyes, lashes falling heavily against their cheeks, same yellowed smile. They're even looking in the same direction.

This place feels heavy with enchantment, as if the blue windows might cave in under the pressure of the jungle within. I can picture green ferns springing up around my rigid chair and my salad browning into moss. Here and there, a pair of flickering half-lidded yellow eyes

I recognize them, of course, because my eyes once looked the same way. And, everyone looks the same.

It's heartbreaking how sad these jungle animals are - and embarrassing, because I don't think I care about jungles enough.

See, it's sad that I'm more distressed over how disappointing my salad is than I am about how distraught they are. It's sad that I can notice they're looking at me but not want to see them.

And these zombies and sleepwalkers who populate my college campus, my town and my reality... they are more beautiful than the mountains in my backyard.

The jungle, a sprawling, self-conscious mass, is not a shelter because it is not solid. It keeps changing based on these stupid whims and I keep changing too.

I want to say that I'm full of music, but I fear I am an empty noise. And yet I show off my beauty, when I have just aroused from sleep, too. Ha. Sleeping Beauty I am not.

Or perhaps I am. Perhaps these yellow-eyed jungle creatures just zombies and sleepwalkers.

Violently, I'd shake one from his stupor. Perhaps he'd remark on the weather or offer me a stick of gum. But how can I guarantee he's even awake? Everything looks the same in here. And is it even right for me to pity the sleeping, when I lay upon my bed so often myself?
I must bid the doubt farewell. It must be enough to love and simply be. I watch the jungle break the sky.

Maps

I drew a map today of seven countries that live only in my mind. It has a beautiful coastline, and it's just as I pictured it to be.

It reminds me of The Little Prince, which is a book I can not recommend highly enough.

Hmm... am I crazy to draw maps? My sister thinks I am. After the whole Mapping the World by Heart adventure of school three years ago, Joss is pretty turned off maps.

"Oceans are endearing.

Roads divide. They cut and separate." someone said to me once.

Let us swim for a while, dear one, and we'll drink the sky until the sun remembers us. Then the morning will gild the butterflies in their royal splendor, and heaven will smile. You and I will smile and the world will be all of snow.

Sigh.

God is good.

PREP... The Scone Adventure

Hey everybody!

Back again for another short blog. I thought I'd update y'all about the scones. (Before I go on, I'm not sure how cool everyone is with me using their real name, so I used the interns' soundoff numbers and the PREP nicknames. For those of you in ICC, see if you can figure out who these people are. I might tell you who they are... if you give me chocolate)

I mentioned in my last post that we can only bake from 8 pm to 8 am. Last night, that got hairy. We baked potatoes for lunch this afternoon, and I also planned on baking about 40 scones. No sweat, right?

Wrong.

So, I knew that the Moon's oven has some spunk, but yesterday, it decided it didn't like me and suffice it to say that it didn't bake those potatoes till it was good and ready (which was, literally, three hours after we were hoping it would be good and ready) It was all good though, because we got a curfew extension to finish baking.

I made the scones while the oven was having its temper tantrum, three batches of one dozen to 16 each. Here begins adventure #2 of The Scone Adventure.

I found the food processor without a problem. It's this really cute little round thing with a lid and a little button you push to make it go... and that was about all I could find out. I tried four or five different methods to get it to turn on... but I have no common sense so that didn't work. I asked another PREP girl... didn't work. I asked an ex-PREP guy who is now an intern (this would be #6, the one who sprayed me with the faucet... so you know how much courage that took) but that didn't work. It took me like forty five minutes just to figure out how to get the lid on the processor, and about four peoples' help! Come on, Catey! Finally, I ground up the oats and got started on the scones.

Here begins adventure #3 of The Scone Adventure. I decided to make some dairy free scones and just experiment around with them and hope they turned out (sorry, #8 and #10 for my cooking style! So far, the only thing that hasn't come out is the dairy-free pudding....) So, despite my MULTIPLE google fails (the girls are allergic to milk AND soy... so nothing really worked) I was able to find a butter substitute (coconut oil works - compensate with a little flour for the softness) and then set about making non-dairy buttermilk. Yah. Non-dairy buttermilk. I ended up using a mixture of water, honey, vinegar and vegetable oil. It worked though.

Here begins adventure #4 of The Scone Adventure. There were a ton of people randomly bumming around the kitchen, guys and girls, but after curfew, everyone went to bed. I went and washed my hair while my scones were baking, then came out in my pajamas. Mind you, everyone was supposed to be asleep. And that there is a very, very strict NO PAJAMAS rule in this house. I came out, and it was just one of the PREP girls and I icing my scones and then blam! The son of the organization's president (his mom is the one who initiating the NO PAJAMAS rule) shows up and starts randomly talking to us. No point. No purpose. Just talking to us. Despite the fact that it's the middle of the night and we're all in our pajamas. What do you do in that circumstance??? Weirdness.

A few more assorted adventures:

#3: How dare you even think of that??? Here in the Moons' house and everything!

Catey: I didn't think of that. You were -

#3: You perverted person!

#6: What was Catey doing?

#3: Thinking of boys wearing short shorts!

Catey: No I wasn't!

#6: Catey, how could you?

Catey: I wasn't. #3's making this up -

#6: Catey, we're going to have to lock you in the closet for this. You've crossed a line.

Catey: #3 was talking about it. I didn't do anything. He's making this up. Why don't we lock him up?

#3: Because you're a girl. You need to obey us, for you are a PREP girl slave. #6, tie her up.

Catey: What??

#6: Yes, that's right. #3, it's your job to remember to let her out to cook us our food.

Catey:...?...!...?

------

At Sam's Club, with The Slacker and The Onion Mincer...

Random checkout lady (you know it's coming - another one of those creeper stories...): So... why all the food?

The Onion Mincer: It's for our growing family. (looks at Catey, for approval or punishment)

Random checkout lady: ...?...!...?

------

Catey: Please let me out of the closet....

------

Catey: Please?

------

Catey: Seriously! #3 and #6, this isn't funny any more!

------

Catey: (cries quietly)

#3: Woman! Get in the kitchen where you belong!

------

Well, that was nice. That was cool. That was fun. That was nice.

It's been one big adventure, and it's been, all of it, totally awesome. I love PREP!

I'll be back with more totally random stories tomorrow.

Love from Murfreesboro!

Catey (The Asian)

PREP... Frugality Meets Allergy and Things Blow Up

I'm finding that having a quick post once a day or every few days will make sure that I write often enough to keep everybody posted back home, but it doesn't take that long. This might even work.

So, one of my main roles as a PREP girl is to organize, plan and work kitchen. I'm currently having a lot of jobs that involve organizing the kitchen (this means I write shopping lists and help decide on meals, mostly.)

To give you a little perspective on this, we're cooking for roughly 35 people six meals a day: breakfast, AM snack, lunch, PM snack, dinner, and dessert. We have salad at lunch and dinner, fruit at breakfast and every snack, and cookies whenever the team wants them (currently, we haven't made any though... this is sad). The oven has so much personality, including cooking things at a unique rate (depending on the food, it might be fast or slow) and turning on spontaneously. (Not quite spontaneously, actually. It's just really sensitive.) We can use the oven after 8 pm and before 8 am, but not between. We also have two people with lactose/soy allergies. Whew! It's a lot to keep in mind, but it's not all that hard to manage. It is so ridiculously fun. I'm learning so much about managing and budgeting and how to cook for different tastes and needs.

I hope I don't sound like I'm complaining, because I'm not. This has been such a blast, and such a joy! I would do this forever and ever.

However, right now I've hit an obstacle. Does anybody out there know how to make dairy-free scones? The scones are getting made in a few days and I'm trying to figure out how Tessa and Marisa are going to eat... [goes off to check Mrs. V's blog....]

What a blast! I love PREP! I love cooking! I love learning how to work out the managing and the allergies and the health and the gorgeousness of these awesome people!

Google rocks,

Catey

PREP... Joy is Strength

(Written at the Moon's house waiting to go grocery shopping so I can make dinner...)

It's going to be a short post today, but suffice it to say that Camp was awesome! I had opportunity to step into some leadership training and opportunities, and my cabin group was awesome! (They won two simulations!)

Camp was an encouragement to me that I was indeed a speaker worth listening to - not because I'm great or I have any right to demand the respect of my audience, but because when God places you in a situation where you must speak, he will also give you the words to say, and so it's not you they here, but him.

Here at PREP, I'm one of seven team members (our soundoff is in Korean - I'm ilgop.) It's been an awesome two days and I'm excited to see all that God will do. The team (meaning the staff here) is so wonderful. They are sweet to me (except for one... who sprays me while I'm doing the dishes...) It's awesome! I can't wait to get to the store, because I'm making scones for breakfast (I miss you, Auntie Angi! I'll make them for you as soon as I get home!)

So... that's all for now! I promise I'll write more later. But look! I posted! Isn't this rare! Isn't that wonderful! And I didn't even sing about seeing people on plates.

With joy,

Catey

Promise

I promised my mom I would get better about blogging by the time I leave for Camp and Prep Week next week. This is my first attempt at it. I know I really have been pathetic about it, so I'm hoping to remedy that.

So, I should probably start by catching my poor old blog up to date on all that has transpired since my last post. Since my last post on expectation, I have:

- had my cousin Zach stay in town for eleven days this June. I don't think Zach reads my blog, and I'm not sure how often his mom does, but here's my shout-out to Zach. He's an amazing young man. I've known Zach since he was eight or nine or so, and I've always loved him. He's twelve now, and one of the most amazing twelve-year-olds I have ever met for so many reasons. I miss him so much. You can send him back any time, Aunty!

- lived so much I forgot to write about it. I hope this won't happen this summer, because, like I said, I promised my mom I would be better about blogging. So my lack of blogging has had more to do with having too much to write about than not having enough to write about.

- had one of the greatest Carli-ish adventures of my life in the tiny town next to us. My sister Carli waves to everyone - makes their day. So my cousins and my siblings and I decided we'd try it out. An hour and a half later, I saw more smiles on the faces of busy Palmer Lake citizens than ever before. Hopefully, we'll be doing that again tonight.

- I competed in the Inaugural ICCFS National Championship Tournament. What an amazing experience! At my very first tournament with breaks, it was such a delight to be with all the other competitors and learn what true friendship can mean. I've never been in a place where I can encounter anyone in the halls and pray with them in all earnestness and hug them and send them on to their room, even if you're competing against them. I've never seen people who were more in touch with each other's needs and where I heard no backbiting. I could gush for pages on how much I love those people I was with, but I'll refrain.

- I encountered breaks for the first time. Super fun. I loved standing with everyone when they were announced! I broke in all three speeches. I also broke in debate, which was announced later, and was one of the finalists in our first-ever national championship! It was an exciting thing, for sure. I placed in all of my speeches, which was a huge blessing.

- I was an RSA. So delightful!!!! I could gush about these people for ages too, but I'll just say that they are completely wonderful and it was such a joy to work with them. They even put up with me when I was going crazy looking for jobs (usually, this didn't last too long. We were busy!)

-I was a point person setting up the banquet. That was a stretching experience. Usually my jobs involve making people feel happy, not making sure things get done. It grew me a lot though.

- Currently, I'm spending some time with my out-of-state buddy, Ethan, who flew out here a few weeks ago. I've known Ethan since he was about four (he's now eleven) , and it's been pure delight to have him out here with us again.

- Joss and I are planning on taking off again (I have been traveling so much it's ridiculous!!) to go to Tennessee for a communications camp out there for a week, and then I'll be remaining in Tennessee for the rest of the month helping a team of interns prep for the annual tour conference. Basically, I get to do chores and make sure they don't have to worry about anything while they prepare. I can't wait!

So, this summer so far has been about experiencing and learning communion and relationship. I love. I hope this will become more true. I am so excited to see all that God will do this summer and forever. I'm going to do my very best to blog my experiences as much as possible! Keep me accountable, everyone!

Love you all!

Joy!

Catey

Echoes in Ink

Expectation.

(Warning: the thoughts contained in this post are typically irrationally and abstract. And it's been worked on for weeks. And all that.)

Okay... so I'm pathetic about posting. I hope to become better about this. And since my last "creative" poem about... well, whatever that poem is about, a lot has happened.

I am a high school graduate. This is a weird thought for me. I'm graduated early (at 16, as opposed to 17 or 18, I suppose). I think this is not so much because I'm graduated, but because of expectation, which is something I've been thinking about a lot.

When a girl graduates high school, there are a few different groups of people who all have different expectations. One camp expects me to go to a university on a nice scholarship (for? I'm still not entirely sure I understand all of the scholarships that are out there.) get my degree and have a nice, illustrious career until I'm twenty-five or thirty, and then think about settling down. Another group says I should get married. The end. Now. (At sixteen? Perhaps they mean court now, and get married on my eighteenth birthday.) Others combine those ideas, throwing in a few twists like traveling, working on political campaigns (me?), picking up sewing or cake decorating, nannying, and other sundry hobbies.

They all ask me, "What are you going to do now?" as if the graduation of high school means some sort of drastic switch where I abandon everything I used to do and start doing something else. I really just want to hold steady on the course, to finish well what I began and then see what seasons God transitions me to.

But people don't expect this.

What is the value of expectation? As a naturally compliant person, I tend to follow peoples' expectations on me, which makes it rather frustrating when some expectations are in direct opposition to each other. I suppose this is why God is teaching me and guiding me, and not all of these people. It's made me careful to evaluate the expectations I have on myself and on others.

I think the most dangerous expectations I have are on myself - I must stay up till 1 tonight to finish my American Literature curriculum, I must pass four tests per month, I must finish YSG by next January, I must learn, I must be, I must be better. Discouraging, yes? I think all of us struggle with expectation, whether ours or others'. It can easily take our eyes off of the God who is to be trusted and obeyed, and onto what we think we ought to do or be.

I am learning a lot of what it means to love, and to have faith. Faith is not an easy thing for me - I am a creature of compassion and joy, not of faith! But I think I am learning.

So what am I going to do? I am learning still. I think that I will finish college this year, continue teaching, maybe travel a little more. Then, next year, I think I will see about traveling and teaching together. But this is God's business.

I expect God's glory, and that is all.

Birthday Party

Tuesday was J.R.R. Tolkien's birthday. I can't believe I missed it, for now I am sad. Tolkien is one of my favorites.... argh. So, I'll now write a post in honor of Tolkien... but since he was such a brilliant author, I may quote a bit.

"All that is gold does not glitter
Not all who wander are lost
The old that is strong does not wither
Deep roots are not touched by the frost
From the ashes a fire will be woken
A light from the shadows shall spring
Renewed shall be blade that was broken
And the crownless again shall be king."

"Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens."

"It's a dangerous business - stepping out your front door. "

"Short cuts make long delays."

"I do not love the bright sword for it's sharpness, nor the arrow for it's swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”“It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: someone has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them.”“I warn you, if you bore me, I shall take my revenge.”

Hehe... I love Tolkien. I promise I'll write a good post sometime before MASTERS... though I've no idea when...

Humility

I have struggled with a balance between pride and false humility for years. But recently, I had a wake-up call that opened my eyes to embracing my inner ridiculousness, and becoming a person of true humility.

It's called: my family. There is no way to be the oldest of five kids and still have dignity. To show you exactly what I mean:

My family name has a meaning that my dad denies (he hasn't yet embraced his inner ridiculousness). He claims it means "spherical" (my mom says, "corpulent"). My dad says it means, 'wealth'.

It doesn't. I researched it. And that's NOT what it means.

It means, 'gibbon'.

A gibbon is a monkey.

My full name means "pure light monkeys".

Truth is truly stranger than fiction.

My family settled on a compromise.

We are now the Rich Round Monkeys.

Love always,
Catey the Rich Round Monkey Woman

Proof...

... that I really am a nerd:

I have a superb reading word per minute!

Average reading speed is 150-400 wpm.

My initial reading speed is 650 wpm.

Less than 5% of North Americans have a wpm over 400.

After taking a speed reading course, my wpm is now 1060 per 45 seconds.

With comprehension.

And I'm so happy.

I am such a nerd.

The Promised Post

So, here is the short version of my camp experience at ICC Speech Leadership Camp. I have this really good insightful post coming, but I thought I'd write a short on camp. Sixteen fun things about Camp:
Zero bug bites before the last day. I had this AMAZING bug spray that kept everything away and smelled like a smoothie. I was soooo happy... then I went on a hay ride. Apparently, in Tennessee (where "there's oxygen, so there are bugs.") there are these things called chiggers which are the demonic cousins of mites. They leave their feeding tubes in your skin, so they itch for forever and swell up and scar. I don't itch anymore, but I'm scarred. That was a unique experience.
One week in Tennessee. One of the most amazing weeks of my life.
Two amazing Moons. I met Mr. Moon for the first time at the conference - wonderful people, those Moons. I also got to see Mrs. Moon. I really like her and am very glad that she's still so involved in our organization.
Three hours discussing philosophy with Rebecca. Rebecca was one of the girls in my cabin and we got to be friends during our week at Camp, as we were both also Student Leaders. Rebecca is a genius analyzer and then some. So, one day, we sat in the (air-conditioned) chapel and talked about philosophy for three hours (blog post on that coming soon). She's the only person I know who talks classic literature, philosophy, and knows everything old musical ever.
Four speech events. Not bad for my second tournament ever, eh? I competed Impromptu, Interpretation, Platform, and Sales Pitch.
Five third-place awards. Seriously. Five third places. How did I manage that? I took 3rd in Impromptu, Interpretation, Sales Pitch, Sweepstakes (not sure how that happened) and Model UN speaker.
Six people playing Big Monkey. Phil (very cool intern who used to scare me but gave me a 1st place ballot in Interp) taught six of us how to play this really random, pointless game called Big Monkey... I am sad to say that four out of the six people didn't get this nearly rule-free game. Oh well.
Seven guys singing "The Lion Sleeps Tonight" - at Eric's request. Eric (another cool intern, though he didn't scare me) likes to sing. Lots. Even though his voice is, in a word, bad. Once he found out my talent for getting a song stuck in my head for weeks at a time, he made it his goal to sing every song he knows around me. Rick Astley was his favorite (and Phantom of the Opera - talk about awkward.) but The Lion Sleeps Tonight was rather amusing - considering the fact that he gathered most of the guys in the room to sing the backup for him.
Eight hours with the same people daily. Since there were only four Student Leaders (I was the odd one out in a lot of ways... vaguely humorous.) we spent all of our four-six classes a day with each other and since there were so few, we got to know each other well. When we did personality typing (we actually had a class on it) we found out that we're all within a few letters of each other.
Nine girls in my cabin. Six of us were there for the ride, three were interns. I loved doing devotionals every night with them.
Ten showers in the Girl's Bathouse. And everyone in them sang. It was fantastic.
Eleven - Minute D.I. (ouch.)
Twelve wonderful interns. Hhhhh... I miss them.
Thirteen or more states represented. Even a foreign country - Ontario, Canada. His accent was funny.
Fourteen pages of notes. I'm a little overeager.
Fifteen Model UN Nations. Yipee! Go Model UN! If they'd passed my resolution, we would have won the game... but they didn't. So much fun.
A myriad: Of memories, knowledge and friendships.

Coming up next: An insightful post on Hollow Men...

Screening Calls

Why you should never screen phone calls:

The last time I screened an out-of-state call (Virginia), I found out days late that I had taken 4th in the Patrick Henry College short story contest (my story's on their website - here)

This time, my sister didn't answer a different Virginia call.

I find out today that I took 3rd place in the Home School Legal Defense Association (HSLDA) Poetry contest. It was a Sestina poem (not the one I posted a few months ago) but I'm not sure which one out of the two I wrote took the placing, but I'm really really really excited. It should be up fairly soon on the HSLDA website here. I'll post when I find out that it's been put up.

God bless,
Catey
Who has no luck in screening calls

***EDIT***
My poem is now up on the HSLDA website, and for the first time, I actually feel pretty good about this one. I did not expect this to be the winner (it felt pious when I submitted it, but it's a unique look at the topic.) but I am very very happy nonetheless. You may read it at this link: http://www.hslda.org/Contests/Poetry/2009/2009poems.asp#Catey.
Echoes in ink,
Catey
Who also has no luck in predicting winning pieces

***LAST EDIT, I PROMISE***
Vote on my poll down below my blog name... I'm trying to gather opinions on something, and I'd love for yours to be a part of it!
Echoes in ink,
Catey
Who adds multiple edits to her blog posts

Sing With Me!

I am sixteen, going on seventeen,
I know that I'm naive.
Fellows I meet may tell me I'm sweet
And willingly, I believe!
I am sixteen, going on seventeen,
Innocent as a rose.
Bachelor dandies, drinkers of brandies,
What do I know of those?
Totally unprepared am I
To face a world of men.
Timid and shy and scared am I
Of things beyond my kin!
I need someone older and wiser
Telling me what to do
You are seventeen, going on eighteen,
I'll depend on you.

Bored?

I'm not bored. But if you are, I have the ideal solution for you (or even if you're not, I have a great thing for you to do)!

Kylie, Joss, and I are putting on the first ever annual Ignition Challenge, starting today and continuing through the month of June!

The Ignition Challenge, which can be found online at www.ignitionchallenge.wordpress.com , is loosely affiliated with Kids of Faith Online Magazine and is put on and written by the contributors. Our goal for Ignition is to challenge and encourage believers to take their relationships with God deeper this summer.

It's really exciting - with devotionals, stories, humor, and in-depth looks at four aspects of our walk with God posted every day from now till July 1st! We're hoping to reach as many people as possible in the month of June, so consider checking us out! We'd love for you to come visit.

For more information on the challenge, check out our vision statement here. See you there!

In love and on fire,

Catey, Co-Editor of Ignition

my father moved through dooms of love, by e.e. cummings

After first hearing e.e. cummings when one of my writing students read 'i am so glad and very' aloud for our class, I have been determined to figure this man out and read more of him. I was entranced by this poem, and thought perhaps, you'd like it too.

my father moved through dooms of love
e.e. cummings
my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep
my father's fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.

Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead he called the moon
singing desire into begin

joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice

keen as midsummer's keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly(over utmost him
so hugely)stood my father's dream

his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn't creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.

Scorning the pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain

septembering arms of year extend
less humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is

proudly and(by octobering flame
beckoned)as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark

his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he'd laugh and build a world with snow.

My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)

then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that's bought and sold

giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am

though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things
sweet,maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeath

and nothing quite so least as truth—
i say though hate were why man breathe—
because my father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all

My Kids Will Have An Interesting Life...

All I can say is that I'd better marry a person who's at least a little bit more normal than I am or else my children will,
a) be complete freaks of nature
b) have to grow up with two very strange parents
or
c) all of the above

Then again, if I marry someone who's normal, then I might encounter some problems getting along with him... I wouldn't have anyone to talk to. Oh well. 'Tis a paradox I may as well just forget about, and simply pray for my children.

What prompted this interesting discussion, you ask?

Last night, my 4/yo brother was asking me to tell him a story (I told him one story to have him keep up while we were on a walk, and he hasn't stopped asking me for a story since.) when my mom announced:

Mom: No! Not tonight. Because she'll be doing an Interp for you tomorrow.

For all the non-speech-and-debate people, an Interpretation (Interp) is the best speech ever (if you're an Extemper, please don't kill me!)

Seriously though, for all the non-speech-and-debate people, an Interpretation (Interp) is a speech you perform dramatically.

Interps can be a lot of work. You have to cut a piece of literature into a script, memorize the script, block (add movement) to the script, characterize, and then work on other fun rule-related stuff. In short, this isn't something you want to write and memorize the night before.

And my mom has just sprung on me that I will, indeed, be writing and memorizing an as-of-yet-unknown piece of literature the night before.

My reaction: What?

Another note: My family is doing a homeschool co-op with some families who are considering the curriculum that my family used during my elementary education. They're studying ants right now. So my mom thought it would be "fun" for them to see an Interp of the Ant and the Grasshopper (Aesop) instead of just reading.

And, being the resident Interper with loads of time on my hands (snort... that's not even funny), I was elected to do it.

Did I mention I have a problem with Impromptu speaking? Just check out this post to be sure, but I seriously dislike it.

I just don't tell everyone that. And so, I'm being "strongly encouraged" to compete Impromptu next year and I taught a class on Impromptu speaking a week ago. Ha! If only they knew. But more and more I'm finding I probably don't have a problem.

In said class on Impromptu, I unexpectedly told an Impromptu story. In the above post, I was I competed Impromptu (not Apologetics, like I thought I'd be able to... correction, like I was TOLD I'd be able to...) I'm constantly giving speeches I've been given less than 4 days to prepare for (yeah, I went to an assisted living home with my speaking group that somebody cancelled for at the last minute, so I wrote a speech the night before and attempted to give it that day) I wrote my first-ever D.I. and performed it in three day... it's just sad how many times I've had to do this.

So, to make this post all the more random, after deciding I don't hate Impromptu that bad after all, I realized how spoiled my brothers are as it comes to reading.

My mom and my sisters and I have always read aloud to the younger family members. We've always used voices, and expression.

But now?

My brother now asks for stories like Winnie the Pooh, but expects a full-out presentation. The funny part is, he usually gets it. I've memorized so many children's books as Interps that I can usually just Interp my stories (and if I don't, we all do very dramatic voices and stuff like that).

So, I was thinking that and took it a step further. My children will probably grow up with that kind of dramatic reading/speaking. They'll come into their library storytimes as little three-year-olds and say, "Mommy, she doesn't read the stories fun like you do."

What am I getting myself into?

That and the fact that my children will probably have an overdose of the verbiage gene. So, maybe they won't say that. Maybe they'll say, "Mother dearest, she doesn't entertain us to the same degree as do you when you read aloud."

To conclude this reflective, dangerously unproductive post, I will say that, whether my poor children are freaks of nature, or I marry a somewhat normal person or a strange thing like me, I have great fun doing these speeches. So, I suppose I need to get over my Impromptu stigma and my "abnormal" stigma and just do the stupid interp. Right now. Before I forget the whole thing.

Sparks of illumination,
C.