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.

Pinkie Promise

The Boy's eyes are grey. Did they used to be grey? Suddenly it's all-important to the Girl - were his eyes grey or is that something that changed in the ages apart?

He blinks with that steadily unfocused rhythm and rubs his eyes. The Girl watches him, with her hands caught up in the softness of her skirt. They weren't grey before. She remembers now. They were green.

"I missed you." She says to the now grey-eyed Boy who is still glaring off into the middle distance, not seeing her, not seeing their house or the little garden she made while he was away or the small dancing hills out past. His eyes are a hundred thousand miles away in a dug trench.

See, everything's changed and everything's died. The Boy's died. Why she bothers to come and talk to him every day, why she says those silly stupid sweet things like I-missed-you and I'm-happy-to-see-you and I'm-here-for-you escapes her. Her Boy is gone. Maybe his Girl is gone too. One never can tell.

He isn't listening even now. There's anger in his jaw. Her Boy is never angry, he wasn't before, before the trenches and the helmets and the rickety cots.

"If you'll be the Fairy Queen, I'll be the Fairy King." He said. They're children, winged by their imaginations and dressed in pearls and mermaid laughter. His little round face pokes out from under the bedsheet tent they've made. "Here. I'll make you a daisy crown." His little thick fingers twist a rope out of the air and add daisies made from his mind and places it on the Girl's head. His green eyes widen. "You look beautiful, Queen Fairy. There is magic in us tonight" 

She's overcome with a sudden wave of missing. Loss and grief, not because he's dead, but because he's gone. Her Boy is gone. Her Boy, with his laughter and his kindness and his long fingers clasping her around her back when they hug hello - that Boy is gone and the big bad wolf has stolen his body to be given to hold a cruel man.

She doesn't want to believe her Boy isn't in there somewhere. She takes his hands.

"Must you go, Boy?" She said. They're in a tent again, but this time it's a white gazebo tent, with warm summer air all in her hair and his green eyes. The grass beneath them as they sit smells of apples and earth. They're leaning against each other in that way that couples do, and her veil gets tangled up in his bow tie. "I know what happens to people who go away to war."
"All is war, Girl." he says gravely. "We are always at war. I just have to leave home to fight my monsters."
"They'll steal your soul, and then I'll never see you again." She confesses her fear.
"I will never leave you alone. You won't let me. And I won't let you. Pinkie promise, right?" They hook pinkies and sit in the grass with their pinkies hooked. "We belong together, you and me, Girl. We're the Fairy King and Queen. That's the magic. And nothing can change that."

Boy! Why did we grow up? Why did we leave behind the green earth to fight?

He did come home to her, too many moments later. She greeted him at the door, her green eyes all full of magic and delight. Her white veil catches on his medal of honor but not on his eyes. That's when she first sees his grey eyes and the pinched up way his lips are brought together. He doesn't see her. He's seeing the fighting. The death. The pain. There's no more mermaid laughter in him. 
He is not her Fairy King any longer. He is a soldier, and he has forgotten the magic. 

Boy, can you hear me?

It's been something like a hundred years of this, Girl saying stupid lovey things to Boy, wishing and waiting, while his mind does marching drills in his nightmares. It's hopeless, but I think the moment she acknowledges that, all the magic will fall apart and, like the Boy had said, all will be war.

The Girl's eyes are dark with tears. This is why she feared growing up, why she feared letting the Boy go away. She closes her eyes and wishes she was a little girl again playing fairies in the sheet tent. But of course she's not. She's all grown up and she's almost out of magic too.

Her face is soft when she looks at the Boy. For the first time, she realizes how young he looks when he is afraid. Poor little thing. Trapped in a grown up nightmare all alone. Her breath hitches and she stretches out her fingers, all worn and thin now.

"I never break a pinkie promise." She says softly, and her voice catches. She hooks her pinkie into his and shuts her eyes.

Maybe there is magic in them yet.

Maybe magic is just another word for love.

Maybe the big bad wolf can't devour someone who gives everything in a pinkie promise.

Bad dreams are no match for magic fairy kings and queens.

The Boy's and Girl's eyes meet, and it is green.

So the Boy was right after all. All is war, because we all want to stay children forever, but the world demands we all grow up. All is war, because the world wants to suck the  magic out of our eyes and make us as grey as sand. All is war, because love is always worth fighting for, living for, dying for, saying silly things for, and promising far too much for. All is war, but we will win it. Green will always  eat away the grey.

Pinkie promise.

Crying for Grey Hamelin

Follow me, little children, and I will show you how to be free. Do you hear the sound of my wooden flute? It sings for you the song of love. It is a love song, darling. So follow me and I will teach you.

My eyes shall guide you and my song shall lead you. You must not see the cave walls around us, hush-a-bye, little children. My flute enchants you, does it not, my children? Your hearts will be made free.

That voice which cries in the mountains and among the desert streams, is not mine, my children (for mine you are now). Ignore that not-my-song, my loves, my ltitle ones. Your fathers can not hear you among the snow-filled caverns. You are mine now, and this is the song of freedom.

The children awaken among the dragon's lair and cry for grey Hamelin. What have we done, they cry. What did we do to get here?

The piper smiles and lifts the flute to his lips once more. The children open their mouths to cry and cover their eyes, but the sweet sound of chains does bind them. Their eyes turn to the heavens and all of us join hands and fall into the paradise that we call Hell. See, it's dark and it's quiet here, without the scary snow and the dragon with the flute.

One little child stands up and opens his eyes. His ears are bleeding and he turns from the piper and the open sky without the cave and he shakes his head. Slowly, slowly, then faster and faster and he sings.

The song is not new, but it's his father's song, and the wind's song, and the laughter's song, and the song the piper was trying to remember. It is the child's song.

It is the song of freedom. 

And the snow crumbles down.

The Urchin

The travelling man came across an urchin in the street. She was dirty and her fingernails were clenched and bloodied against her breast. One hand was pressed to the pavement and the other was pressed against her breast. Hollow-eyed, she glanced up at the man and waved with one hand still against her. Her shawl falls away from her dirty eyes and she stares. He waves back and travels on. He is a travelling man, it's what he does. She's just a little urchin girl, and as he whisps on, an empty chewing-gum wrapper falls from his pocket. She picks it up and calls in a softly lisping voice, "Thank you, sir. I'll hold this piece of kindness in my pocket and one day when I have something to give, I'll be kind to you too." He doesn't turn around, but hopes that she'll grow up to be not such a dirty girl as she is now.

Decades later, when the moon is king and the sun is dark, the travelling man returns and as he walks, he sees the urchin girl - thinner, colder, and brittle as a snowflake. She is not an urchin anymore, but a seller of secrets, a lie-seller. 

"Are you a buyer of things I know?" she said softly in the street, her hand clenched against herself. 

The white-lipped man with the pocketwatch stops. "Are you a seller of good things?"

"I sell the things I know, sir. But we will barter in things we know: I will hold whatever secret you put into me and then I will tell you something happy. You may buy the things I know."

So he whispered a bitter secret into her ear, and she took her hand off of her breast, and pulled, to the travelling man's surprise, her hand away holding her heart, beating and hollow as a drinking gourd. She put the pale secret into the hollow vase of her heart, solemnly. Then she pressed it back into her chest. She shuddered and grew a little paler. "Thank you. I'll hold it unless you want it back." She said it sort of like a question.

"No. I do not miss it." 

"Then let me tell you a secret, in exchange for what you sold me." She looked up into the heavens, and whispered something in his ear. His face lifted and he smiled. His lips took some color and he put his pocketwatch away. Then he walked away.

She smiled thinly and sat back down. Whatever he said had made her sad, and whatever she had said had made him happy.  

The travelling man was curious. And so he walked to her. "Are you a buyer of things I know?" she said. 

His eyes shot from her dark hollow eyes to her hand clenched against her. "What do you sell? Lies or the truth?"

Her eyes flickered. "I don't know the difference. I sell the things in my heart. I have many things that my heart knows. And I sell the ones that make you happy. I'd make you happy, sir, if you'd exchange me something in your heart."

"Why?"

"My heart falls out a lot, and it has a hollow in it. It's shaped like a secret. So I thought I should do it that way. That part I know is true."

He stretched out his hand and dropped a beam of light, purer than any secret into her hands.

"I can't keep this, sir." she said, her lips quivering. "I've never had anything this beautiful. I'm not that kind of girl, sir."

"Keep it." he said softly. Curious, he said," Now, tell me one of the things you sell people."

After a moment's hesitation, she rose to her tiptoes and whispered in his ear. His eyes intuitively brightened. "But that is true." he said happily. "The things you say are true."

She looked relieved, and tired. "I'm learning now what true is, sir. But that's not what I say, sir. I'm saying things that are happy."

He looked her in the eye. "Now tell me one of the things still in your heart. One of the sad ones."

She shook her head. "No, they are mine to hold. I'm the one with the hole in my heart, and I'm the only one who has to do this. I wouldn't wish this on you."

"But they're lies." he said. 

She turned her head in a somewhat shamed way and walked.

The travelling man saw her again the next day, sitting on the ground. The first thing he noticed was that her hand was out in front of her face, outstretched, and not clenched against her.

In her hand, her heart was bleeding all over, and the smile he was accustomed to seeing on the lie-seller's face was gone. "It wouldn't go back in today." She said blankly. "I couldn't get it back once I put a secret in it." She winced.

"Does it hurt?"

She winced. "I can't tell if this is truth or a lie. And I know I'll die if I get it wrong." She glanced back to her heart in her hands.

"I will show you the truth." Said the travelling man. And he put his hand on her heart and held it for her as she coughed. Secrets and lies and sadness and blood poured out of it and she coughed and cried. "No, no!" she said. "I promised I would hold those."

But they continued to pour until one last thing was stuck in there as she gasped.

It was a chewing gum wrapper.

"I made a promise once," she said to the travelling man, all out of breath. "to be kind to you."

Then she crushed her heart into her hands and said, "I can not hurt you any more. Neither can I lie to anyone again." 

And the urchin exhaled.

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.

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.

Monologue

Hello. Does that seem stiff and formal? It kind of feels that way. Okay. Hi, it's me. I just dropped by because, well, I'm not sure. I miss you a lot. That's for sure. A whole lot. It seems like it's been years since we stayed up till three to talk about the sunset. Was that really just last week? Wow. So much has happened since then. The world has ended since then. Or, my world has.

How many years has it been since we first met? Five? Six? I don't even remember. It seems like forever. You were so young, with your nerdy little bowl cut and your cute little smile. I was probably just as young. Is that me? In that picture beside the bed? Wow. Look at me. I'm not who I was.

Remember that time when we made the blanket fort in your basement with all of the fitted sheets? We slew the dragon, plugged in the stereo, and rocked out to Mozart for three hours during the thunderstorm. Your eyes glowed like you were a nocturnal creature and your Figaro aria was spot-on. Quite the singer, you still are.

How about that time when you and I went out dancing in the rain? I felt like a princess, twirling around in my satin dress, rain making my eyelashes stand out more than any makeup. You doubted the sense of dancing in the rain at first, but with you bow tie strapped around your neck, you made a dapper Gene Kelly, singin' in the rain. I don't think either of us knew what we were doing. I know I didn't. And you looked so uncomfortable. But you were a trooper. We spun in circles and pretzels, and then you dropped me. It didn't hurt, and I'm pretty sure you did it on purpose, just to show off how you would always be there to keep me safe.

My favorite memories are still the ones from those late nights, right before... well, you know. It felt like the morning would never get here, and that God had stopped the moon right as we knew we would never be able to go to sleep. I talked about the past a lot. Rome. China. Transcendentalism. Purity. The way things used to be. You renewed my mind. We talked about the future. The way things will be, if all turns out. College. Work. Church. Missions. You. Me. And both of us. And God, of course. Lots about God.

But now, your words are silent, and your beautiful velvet eyes are shut. The future is past. All of our plans, the times that you were going to take me dancing, the times I was going to help you clean your room, the times we were going to stay up all night praying in the church cafe... all of those are gone. I watch them dissolve into the IV plugged into your arm. Your raspy breathing is almost like singing, melodic, like those blues songs we sang to your guitar in the lazy practices.

Oh, my sweet friend! I miss you!

Give me your hands. They've gone cold.

Don't leave me.

All those plans we had, all those things we never got to talk about, all those things I still wanted to tell you...

The future is now.

Wake up.

I love you.

Empty Seashells [thoughts of the Awakening Program]

What's this?

Why are your tears on my cheeks?

Did I steal your sorrow

When we waded into the silver sea

Remember the day that

I combed the seashell's hair

And you laughed in harmony

With the sea urchins

I was still sandy when I

Went up to the heavenly concert

You told me you hated me

But your cries turned to

Paper cranes as they flew up

To the concert to tell me of

Your imaginary friend

Why do you hate me, beloved?

I'm just sandy rose petals

Not worth your trouble

Please, beloved, speak to me

Please, beloved, don't hide

I found our old sandcrabs, seashells

Tears-stained urchins and memory

My seashells are empty

Oh no

Of course I've loved you

But I was just a sandy rose

How could I know I as just an

Imaginary friend

Oh, beloved, don't hide from me

Oh, beloved, don't say I don't

I don't love you

[He whispers in your ear.

Have your forgotten the sound

Of oceans?]

Have you forgotten the cold embrace?

Oh, don't cry, here in

Here we find clean flowers

To dance at. I never miss

- I found forever and it sang -

Steal back the empty seashells

Fear not, little sea urchin

For now I know you.

Have you forgotten how to laugh

[do you remember anything but your sighs?]

Come beloved, and I will love

I will always love

I have always loved

[You]

PREP... Not really...

Back at home.

Recovering. Adjusting.

Real life is weird.

I love my family, and I didn't realize how much I missed them.

I love my family, and I didn't realize how much I would miss them when I left.

But this is the ICC. We'll be seeing each other soon - in God's timing.

On a less contemplative note, I hardly know what to do with myself now that I'm not cooking all the time.

Slash muffins!

Catey

PREP... Who Threw Up in the Stove?

KMac walks into kitchen just as Catey spills the zucchini soup that KMac DOES NOT like in the stove while trying to transfer it into a Ziploc to freeze.

KMac: WHOA! Who threw up in the stove?

Potty Plunger Boy: What???

KMac: What? I can't help it that zucchinis look like vomit.

She'll be having canned tomato soup for dinner tonight.

PREP... Borrowed Laughter

(Something I wrote during devotionals this morning...)

Borrowed Laughter

I have tickled your mind with

Laughter, borrowed from

The winking eyes of morning

Have you aroused, hopeful one?

I want with you to dig tunnels

To the moon and to

Blow bubbles of gold

Do I frighten you with my

Glittering Dance?

Are you

Afraid?

I will be nothing but a gilded

Butterfly to you if you dance

Hold my hands

Step

See the moon - through -

Here in the golden tunnel

Look out there

The stars are laughing at

Our clumsy dance

I don't mind

Don't cry

Borrow my laughter

Until the moon is here

(On Thoughtful Thursday, we made a list of life goals, things we wish we knew more about, and things we wish we had more time to do. Now we're devoting time this afternoon to doing, learning and working toward these things. I'm researching Alexander the Great and reading rhymed poetry. {Happy, Mom?} Then later, we're doing a meal planning and budgeting activity. This is my PREP job... should be fun! KMac even made us counterfeit money...)

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

I Guess This Is Goodbye

"I guess this is goodbye, old pal

You've been a perfect friend.

I hate to see us part, old pal

[Soon, I will] be back.

I'll see you soon again

I hope that when I do

It won't be on a plate..."

Maybe that song is not quite as appropriate as I had first thought. Though I hope the next time I see all of you, it won't be on a plate.

Tomorrow at the crack of dawn, Joss and I are heading off to Tennessee, for a few days and a few weeks, respectively. So, to all of you Colorado people, to my family, and to many of you, I guess this is goodbye. But I'll see you soon again, in a few weeks.

I love you. Goodbye.

"And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called to one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs with thankfulness in your heart to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him."

See you soon! (and not on a plate!)

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.

Louisiana

Is one of the most amazing places on earth. While I will always love my homestate of sunny Colorado, Louisiana gave me a glimpse of the amazing brilliance that the South has.

I just returned today from teaching a public speaking conference in Louisiana with some friends (including Art!) I'll be sharing my thoughts on it very soon!

In the meantime, I'll just say bye to y'all (I said y'all!) and let you experience the joie de vivre in your lives.

God be praised!

Forever [Beautiful Belief]

This is my Flood the Five event poem. If you haven't noticed the pattern, I apparently have at least one poem per event that just sort of summarizes my thoughts. I'll have a more official Flood post up later.

I stand beside you, full
Unquestioning, I follow
So strong art thou
So full of passion, of belief
I feel your heartbeat
I love, I am, unquestioning

Together, now forever, unquestioning
You and I to understand, for full
You think, you feel, his heartbeat
Who shall you and I follow?
Your face is devoid of belief
For you and I art forever; I, thou

I am with you, art within thou
You are quiet. I'm unquestioning
I'm noisy in your frail belief
This joy is your strength in full
Maybe I will lead and you will follow
In this strength, your fragile heartbeat

Love! My hand, my heartbeat
Open, you are precious, art thou
Forever, I will quiet, I will follow
I shall help you unquestioning
For you, my heart is full
For you, I forsake my blind belief

So much hope, so much belief
I see thy joy - how I find a heartbeat
May I stand with you for full
You are, we are together: I, thou
To you, I will forever give me, unquestioning
We, together, will lead and follow

So many, so much, I follow
I am given toward belief
I shall wear white (I am unquestioning)
Can we share one heartbeat
One soul? How fully to desire thou
I will be filled to the full

Joy! So full, happy to follow
I and though, our heartbeat
To be unquestioning, here my beautiful belief

So... like it? This is a really abstract one. You'll have to let me know what you think it's about. Then I'll write about the actual conference experience. I'll tell you, I'm having HUGE extrovert withdrawal right now. I very much miss everyone.
Oh! And check out the pages at the top of the site! Are those cool or what?

How Very

What sort of normal person is expected to write an academic essay in 500 words or less on US History II? Just thought I'd make note of that...

Okay, for real, here's a poem I wrote and decided I'd post, since I've been posting disgracefully infrequently.

How very curious, my dear,
How very
I wonder what the trees said that morning
I thought I heard the stars sing aloud
Maybe for joy
Maybe

How very lovely, my dear,
How very
I wonder why the angels sing so quietly
I thought I could hear them
Maybe far away, softly
Maybe

How very thoughtful, my dear,
How very
I wonder why the Christchild comes
I thought I saw him, though he is gone
Maybe here, maybe there
Maybe

How very silent, my dear,
How very
I wonder why the songs are yet here
I thought this darkly silence was unbroken
Maybe there is light even here
Maybe

How very precious, my dear,
How very
I wonder why such a good thing has come
I thought all we were is darkness, fire and sand
Maybe there is more worth to us than that
Maybe

How very irresistible, my dear,
How very
I wonder why I am so drawn to such a small thing
I thought I could run from something so finite
Maybe there is infinity in this child, love
Maybe

Well, back to the 500-words-or-less paper...

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...