Who Stole the Cookie from the Cookie Jar?

Fred, 5

Moving as quietly as I can, I sneak into the kitchen.  I press a hand to my tummy, stopping the sound of grumbling that tries to escape.  I look back and forth.  Nope, nobody here.  Now’s my chance!  I reach up to the counter and grab the cookie jar.  Before I open the jar and take the cookie inside, I stop for just a second.  I know that Mom said I wasn’t supposed to have a cookie because we were having dinner soon, and this is the last cookie! …But I’m so hungry!!  That outweighs everything else.  I grab the cookie, stuff it into my mouth, chew, and swallow it.  No one noticed!  Victory!

Olivia, 7, sister

Walking into the kitchen, I casually walk over to the counter and quietly open the cookie jar.  Pleased with how sneaky I’m being, I reach in to grab a cookie…but there’s none to be found!  Filled with disappointment and anger, I’m about to go complain to Mom when I realize I can’t.  She’d told me not to have a cookie before dinner.  It’s time to do some investigating instead.

Sara, 17, sister

I couldn’t handle it a moment longer.  The temptation was just too strong.  Filled with both defeat and guilty pleasure, I wander into the kitchen and surreptitiously open up the cookie jar.  My sinful act can’t be completed, however, because when I poke my hand into the jar there is no cookie to be found!  Damn it.  Before I have time to consider another sinful option, Olivia races into the room.

“Did you see any suspicious activity in the kitchen lately?” Olivia asks.  “Because someone stole the last cookie from the cookie jar, and I’m trying to figure out who it was.”  “I know it wasn’t you,” she adds, “‘cause you’re on a diet.”

It almost was me, I thought.  I try to keep the guilt from showing on my face.  “Nope, haven’t seen anything suspicious here, but I’d definitely be willing to help you solve the mystery.”  Whoever stole that cookie would pay for the disappointment he or she had caused me…

Mom, 38

“Dinner will be ready in a few minutes!” I call across the house.  To my surprise, there is no answer, not even the clomping of feet racing to the kitchen as there usually is.  Only silence.  It’s nice, but ominous.  If it’s ever silent in this house, it means something is wrong and a big storm of issues is about to come. “Anyone here?  Fred?  Olivia?  Sara?”  This time there’s an answer as Olivia skids into the room with Sara trailing behind.

“Mom!  Mom!  Mom!” she exclaims, breathlessly.  “Have you seen Fred?”

“Yes,” I say, raising an eyebrow in suspicion.  “He’s playing upstairs in his room.  Why do you ask?  What’s up?”  Her eyes glow with enthusiasm.  I can tell that whatever is up, she is very excited about it.  It’s quite adorable, the power of a child’s enthusiasm. 

“Well, I went to get the last cookie out of the cookie jar today, but it was gone.  Someone stole it!  So, I’ve been investigating, but I haven’t asked Fred about it yet.”

“Hmmm,” I say, a sly smile playing on my lips, “and why were you getting into the cookie jar after I told you not to?”   Olivia’s face flushes with guilt, and she panics, blubbing out her words incoherently.  I look over at Sara and see a similar flush on her cheeks.  Hmm…I’m sensing multiple guilty parties here.

“I…well…I was just making sure the last cookie didn’t get stolen.  I was keeping watch…like a guardian angel!”  She seemed so pleased with her little white lie that I let it pass.

“Oh, okay,” I say, playing along.  “That explains everything, but your guarding seems to have slipped up a bit, since the cookie was stolen…”

“Yes, that’s why it’s my duty to find the culprit!” Olivia says emphatically.

At that very moment, Fred suddenly runs into the kitchen.  “I can’t take it any longer!” he exclaims.  “I did it, it was me.  I stole the cookie from the cookie jar.  I was so hungry!  I’m sorry.”

I shake my head in amusement.  Never a dull moment around here.  “Come here,” I gently tell Fred, wrapping him up in a hug.  His little body shakes in spasms of little sobs that I slowly begin to smooth away with my tight, warm embrace.  Softly massaging Fred’s back, I whisper, “It’s okay, I almost stole that last cookie, too, so I think we’re all even.” 

Barbecue Chips

This tasty, salty snack brings back lots of comforting and fun childhood memories.  When I was a kid, barbecue chips were my favorite thing to snack on.  After school, while watching a movie with my brother and sister, and during my sleepovers with my childhood best friend Danica: these are the most memorable “barbecue chip” moments for me. 

These chips were perfect for helping me get my homework done after a busy day of school, by providing me with energy and something delicious to munch on to make doing homework more fun.  Barbecue chips were also perfect for cozy movie nights with my older brother and older sister.  We’d either each have our own bowl or we’d share a big bowl (usually we’d each have our own.  I didn’t share  very well, and still don’t… LOL).  Snuggled up in a blanket (most likely my sister Miranda and I sharing The Lion King blanket and my brother—being the warm-blooded creature that he is—wouldn’t need a blanket), we’d munch away at our chips while we watched the movie…and when we’d get to the bottom of the bag we’d dig out spoons and shovel the most delicious part (the highly-seasoned crumbs) into our mouths. 

Another great barbecue chip moment was eating them when my childhood best friend Danica would sleep over at my house.  We’d munch on barbecue chips and grape juice…and go crazy laughing at nothing at all, playing pranks on my family members…all hyped up/ high on the munchies.  The chips were our crack, the grape juice our wine!

Oh, the little random things in life: they are truly what makes the world such a fun and lovely place to live in.   <3

“Off to College”: Told from 4 different perspectives

Eliza, 18, college freshman

The big day had finally arrived.  It’s hard to believe.  I’m so excited, but the excitement is bittersweet.  It would be so amazing to finally have my freedom: freedom to come and go as I please, to meet all sorts of new people, and to have wonderful new experiences.  But this freedom also will be scary.  For one, I’ll be away from my family.  Though at times they can really get on my nerves, deep down I love them a lot.  Also, I’m afraid that I won’t be able to make friends…and most of all, I still have no idea what I want to do with my life.  All these thoughts are running through my head, as my parents drive me to my new college life. 

Steven, 7, Eliza’s little brother

                My sister is going away to college, and this makes me really sad.  Sometimes she teases me and makes me angry, but she also plays games with me, reads bedtime stories to me, and takes care of me when I get hurt or feel sad.  I’m going to miss her so much.  I don’t know why she has to leave.  Daddy says it’s because she needs to continue her education to get a good job like Momma and Daddy, but why can’t she just keep going to school here so she can stay home with us?  At least Momma says Eliza will come home as often as she can though.  She better!  Otherwise I’ll have to drive up to college and bring her home myself!  Though first I’d have to learn how to drive…

Paul, 43, Eliza’s father

                My little girl is going off to college.  I can’t believe it.  As I drive—the miles until we reach the university edging closer and closer—I repeat those thoughts over and over in my head.  I try to act nonchalant and strong so my wife Vanessa doesn’t get upset, but it’s hard.  The best I can do is stare blankly ahead and make small talk, faking smiles occasionally.  I take a glance through the rearview mirror and see Eliza, her eyes aglow and a nervous smile on her face as she gazes out the window, her legs restlessly shaking.  In reality, Eliza is 18 years old.  She can drive, has worked a job at Culver’s throughout high school to save up for college, has had a couple of boyfriends and heartbreaks to go along with them, and graduated from high school with high honors.  In summary, Eliza is a mature, smart, young woman.  …But looking at her now all I can see is a smart, precious four-year-old little girl.  Because that’s what she’ll always be to me.  My little girl.

Vanessa, 42, Eliza’s mother

                Don’t fall apart.  Don’t cry, I keep telling myself over and over.  I manage to keep myself composed on the outside—barely—but in the inside is a turmoil of worry.  Eliza--my only daughter, my shopping buddy, my best friend—is going off to college, leaving me behind.  I know she’ll have some great new experiences, but I latch onto worries about potentially bad experiences.  Will she be lonely?  Will she be able to make friends?  And, if she does make new friends, what if they’re a bad influence on her and she ends up getting involved in dangerous things at parties?  Will she do well in and enjoy her classes?  And most of all, will she be happy?  In the end, that’s all I want for her: to be happy, no matter what she decides to do or be.    

Wanderlust

It’s the night before the big day, and I can’t sleep.  I’m much too excited and can’t wait to get out on the open road.  Tomorrow we’re getting up super early and going to a whole new destination, traveling many miles.  For me, it doesn’t really matter where we’re going, there’s always that same excitement I have for the vacation.  Eventually I fall asleep and morning comes.  My alarm goes off, and I pop right out of bed with a huge smile on my face.  Believe me when I say that this is not normal for me; any other morning I’m dead to the world, more so slowly crawling/dragging myself out of bed…and definitely no smiles.  But this is one of many magic moments that occur on family vacations. 

The next magic moment happens when everything is completely loaded up and accounted for, the key is turned in the ignition, and we are on our way!  Passing through town has never been more thrilling but also bittersweet.  On the one hand, it’s awesome; I’m escaping my little town and heading to exotic, far-off destinations.  On the other hand, it’s sad.  As I pass by each house, I think about the people fast asleep in their beds who will wake up in a few hours and go on with everyday life here, and passing by beloved places—certain restaurants, bars, parks, and other fun hangouts—seeing them all dark and empty and lonely, it makes me lonely and reminiscent, appreciating what I didn’t realize was so great until I left it behind.  But mostly it’s a good feeling leaving town, for you know that good times, new people, and new destinations are ahead…and the open road awaits.

Oh, how I love the open road…especially when the trip is just beginning.  I gaze out the window for a while until we’re on the interstate.  Then the next magical moment occurs: I let myself begin to drift off to sleep, the best sleep ever.  It’s somewhere in between awake and not awake, where the comfort of having my family nestled around me, the sound of the interstate humming beneath the car, and the gentle vibrations and movement of the car lolls me into a bliss of warmth, daydreams, and tingly euphoric sensations.

When I awake it’s so exciting to crack open my eyes and look out the car window, searching for clues as to where we are.  Then seeing and passing by all the different cities and towns, each unique in name and substance.  Counting down the mile markers until the next state, visiting the visitor centers at each state, picking up and perusing the visitor information (plotting and planning more fun things to do), stopping at McDonald’s and discovering new accents, seeing odd road signs or other unique things, and the list goes on and on.  So many wonderful memories merely from the journey.  Sometimes the journey is better than the destination, and I think I know why: it’s the anticipation that comes with the journey, the excitement that something wonderful and new is about to be discovered.

This can be applied to life in general, too: it’s all about the journey, “the climb.”  As Miley Cyrus sings in her song “The Climb,” “Ain’t about how fast I get there, not about what’s waiting on the other side…it’s the climb.”  Don’t get too caught up with worries about the future.  Instead, live in the moment…for every moment is a miracle and absolutely beautiful because you are alive.  And things are ever-changing, and sometimes the changes can be scary, but I take comfort in my faith that God is watching over us all and will lead us home in the end.  <3   

The Goodly Ship

Randomly scrolling through the “memos” on my cell phone (which are a collection mostly of random thoughts, ideas, and/or things I happen to come across that somehow inspire me/ hit me in a magical way), I found a quote I’d copied off a gravestone.  The writing on the gravestone was a bit difficult to read—written in a fancy, cursive script and eroding away with age—and that made it even more intriguing.  It read the following: “The world’s a sea, our life a goodly ship.  We are the [sailors?...this part was very hard to make out], and death is the port.”

There was just something about the image these words created in my mind, and combine that with the reflective nature I tune into when I wander through a cemetery, and I get a heightened philosophical/existential moment in my mind.  I began to apply the metaphor to my own life.  Every day I am navigating through the “sea” of the world with my life “ship.”  One day I will inevitably reach my port, my final destination of death, but that isn’t the end.  When a sailor reaches his port, it may be the end of one journey (life), but it’s also the beginning of another (life after death).  One main idea I got out of this inscription was that death is inevitable, but it’s not something to be feared because it is merely the end of one thing before the start of something new. 

Another idea I got out of the inscription was that we are the authors of our own lives, and we can be/do whatever we want to be/do, if only we put our best effort into our aspirations.  It almost felt intentional that the part about what “we are…”was left undecipherable.  For, we all are undefined.  Even if someone tries to define you--or you define yourself-- in a way that you don’t like, you are always able to change this definition of yourself.  To fit this all into the inscription’s metaphor, we are the “sailors” of our “ships;” we choose which route to go and what “port” (Heaven or Hell) to go to.

Maybe this is all a little “preachy” or odd, but it’s what’s in my mind.  It’s interesting to find that whenever I write, it usually contains a religious/spiritual element to it.  I don’t consider myself to be a hugely religious person, but the religious/spiritual beliefs and feelings that I have permeate through my life and writing regardless of my knowledge at times.  I’m constantly changing and evolving as a person, but I’ve found that my spirituality is one aspect of myself that remains constant.  Even though it may be shaken at times, it is always there.

To continue with this idea of my constant change and evolvement, I’d been trying to think of a “theme” for my life for my Intermediate Composition class that I’m taking this semester, and this idea of change and movement seems to definitely work.  I decided to call my life’s theme “On the Road: Travels and Changes” because, for one, I love traveling on vacations.  It’s been a great way to both experience/see new things and to spend quality time with my family.  Another form of traveling that I’ve been doing throughout my life involves my education.  I’ve constantly gone from one school to another both within Portage, my hometown, (elementary school to junior high to high school), and then afterward, for college, to Baraboo and then Stevens Point.  Along with these physical travels I’ve also had many “emotional travels”: my shyness and quietness with my peers and others I don’t know very well progressively changing into a bit more of an outgoing person through life experiences that gave me confidence in my abilities. 

My life is a road…or maybe a “goodly ship.”  J

Let It Go

So, last night I decided to promote my blog by creating a page for it on Facebook and inviting a bunch of friends to like it.  It was a very bittersweet moment for me…both exciting and frightening.  It was exciting because I knew I’d be getting my writing out there for others to see and potentially receiving some positive feedback.  …But it was frightening because my blog is basically my soul.  Being a shy person who is pretty guarded of her emotions and very untalented at speaking, my writing became a way to freely express myself without fear of judgment—the very fear that I think makes me so shy and fearful of speaking.  The writing that I post on my blog is basically an outpouring of my soul.

Before I started revealing my blog to people I know, it didn’t seem like I was really putting myself out there because truly only a few people ever looked at my posts—and they mostly were complete strangers.  But now it’s different.  I’m vulnerable.  Vulnerable to judgment by people I actually know, and since my work is an outpouring of my soul, my very being is vulnerable.  It’s like putting my soul into a huge glass display case and displaying it right in the middle of Times Square for anyone to look and see inside.  So, as I clicked the “invite” button for my Facebook page, I inwardly cringed a bit and my heart beat faster.   Questions and insecurities raced through my head: Will they like my work?  Will they hate it?  Will they think I’m crazy?  Have I showed too much of myself?  Will it change what these people think about me (in a negative way) and make them shun/dislike me (either secretly or publicly)?

…But then I thought to myself, forget worrying about what other people will think of you.  If after reading my blog someone decides he/she doesn’t  like me or thinks I’m crazy, then that’s completely fine.  Because in the end it isn’t what others think about me that counts, it’s what I think about myself. 

This made me think of a quote by Dr. Seuss that really resonates with me: “Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”  Also, since I just got re-reading The Scarlet Letter, I somehow related my situation to Hester’s.  Her strength  and steadfast determination to not be afraid to show the world who she was—even her flaws, scarlet “A” and all—now that’s inspirational.  “Be true!  Be true!  Be true!” Nathaniel Hawthorne states toward the end of   The Scarlet Letter, and this is definitely something Hester always did and something we all should do.  Don’t ever try to be someone you’re not because the person you truly are is so unique, so beautiful—and again, as Dr. Seuss would say, “There’s no one alive who is Youer than You.”

I guess basically what I want to convey through all my writing is optimism: optimism in the beauty and wonder of life and love.  Because after all, the world is beautiful, life is beautiful, and therefore you are beautiful.  

The Power of Music

 

With wobbly legs, sweating palms, and a rapidly beating heart, I shutter a last shaky breath and stagger onto the stage.  The spotlight blinds me, but I can still see hundreds of faces that are staring at me.  The adrenaline pumps through my veins, almost too much to handle, and insecurities plague my brain.  What if I mess up and everyone laughs at me?  What if I freeze up and am unable to sing at all?  These thoughts rip through my head, but when I take the microphone in my hand and the music starts, a sudden calm washes over me, and my insecurity and fear evaporates. 

  Being an extremely shy person all my life, people who knew me were very surprised when I decided to perform in the talent show with my best friend Danica.  When I spoke, my voice whispered words timidly.  Either no one heard me or what I said came out wrong, a mess of “um”s and random words that didn’t make sense together.  The other students in class or other people I met would look at me sympathetically or confusedly, and through those looks of patronization I could sense the judgment running through their minds.  It emotionally scarred me, and my confidence deflated like a balloon.  After a while I gave up on speaking almost entirely.  Fearing that what I had to say wasn’t important or was unintelligent, I choked on any words I tried to speak.  I began believing that it was just better to not speak so that I wouldn’t be embarrassed and judged. 

I always dreaded the days when I’d have to do a speech in front of the class.  In elementary school I got up in front of the class to do a presentation on Egypt and completely forgot what I was going to say.  It was as if an iron curtain had suddenly been pulled down over my mind, keeping me stranded on the other side without my thoughts. With all those eyes staring needles at me, judging me, I could only focus on telling myself not to cry.  I uttered a few rambling words and eventually stumbled back to my seat, defeated but very happy to have escaped the spotlight.  If I were to speak in front of a group of hundreds of people, my mind would either completely blank out, and I’d end up just gaping out at the audience, like a mindless zombie…or I would faint.  Most likely the latter.  Being in the spotlight while singing, however, is a whole different story.  For some reason whenever I get up in front of a large group of people and start singing, I’m completely at ease; it’s like home for me. 

It all started on a music class day in late autumn.  As usual our music teacher, Mrs. Yerke, had a song playing for us when we came in.  As my best friend Danica and I walked in, we recognized the song right away and started singing it loudly, not caring about the stares from our classmates.  It was the song “We’ve Got Lots in Common” from the movie Charlotte’s Web, which was one of our favorite movies.  Danica and I had met a year ago—in second grade—and since then we were as inseparable as a shadow is to a body.  Wherever one of us was, the other wasn’t far behind.  Our parents jokingly called us “Jennica” and would often accidentally call us by each other’s names.  Danica had dark brown hair and a gap-toothed smile.  She wore t-shirts and athletic shorts, and often played sports with the boys and chatted easily with anyone.   We were opposites, but somehow we fit together like two puzzle pieces.   She helped me to do and learn things that I would’ve never tried because I was too afraid to do them by myself, like having sleepovers with other girls in the class, going down big waterslides, and playing sports with the boys.

During that very class, Mrs. Yerke told us about the upcoming school talent show and encouraged us all to try out.  Mrs. Yerke was one of my favorite teachers.  She had black curly hair that she always had up in a ponytail, and she wore large square glasses and flowery skirts.  Mrs. Yerke had such a strong passion for music that it bubbled out and made people feel the same joy that she was feeling for the music.  As Mrs. Yerke was talking, Danica turned to me, her eyes dancing with excitement, and said, “We should sing that song together for the talent show!  It’d be so fun!”

I was a bit uncertain at first.  I had always loved singing, but I’d never performed in front of a big group of people before.  It was only with my close friends or family.  Singing in front of my family and close friends was easy because I knew they wouldn’t judge me and always loved me, but with strangers there was a high possibility of judgment.  I didn’t know if I could handle the possibility of embarrassing myself in front of a huge group of people and being judged and laughed at.  The more I thought about it, however, the more appealing it sounded.  This could be my chance to prove myself.  I was sick of being known as the “shy, quiet girl;” I wanted to prove to the world that there was more to me than just that.  I wanted to show the world the talent that I had, and the confident, fun, and unique person I could be.   After class I eventually agreed, and Danica grinned with pleasure, grabbed my hand, and tugged me along to talk to Mrs. Yerke.  I stood awkwardly beside Danica as she explained that we wanted to sing “We’ve Got Lots of Common” in the talent show.  Mrs. Yerke’s eyes lit up and her voice chimed with enthusiasm.

“That’s wonderful!  That song would work perfectly for you two,” Mrs. Yerke chirped, her ponytail bouncing as she practically bubbled over with happiness. 

The help and praise that Mrs. Yerke gave us before we performed for the talent show was super valuable, and the passion for music that she exuded during the whole process was highly contagious.  Before I knew it, I was absolutely in love with music.  At first I was afraid to sing in front of her, afraid that she wouldn’t like my voice, but I was pleasantly surprised to find her praising me and helping to make my talent shine even more.  This really made my confidence rise, and I became a much happier person.  When the end of the school day came around, I would get all antsy--impatiently squirming in my seat and constantly watching the clock—because after almost every class Danica and I would practice our song with Mrs. Yerke.  The moment that the school bell rang, Danica and I would scurry out of class, grab our book bags and jackets, and head down to Mrs. Yerke’s room to practice our song.  What was really neat and surprising for me as a kid was the fact that practice became fun.  I know now that I was having fun because I was doing what I loved: singing.  When audition day came, we nailed it because we had practiced hard and gained confidence through that hard work. 

When the big day came, the reality of what I was about to do really hit me, and I became very nervous. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to handle singing in front of so many people and worried that I’d mess up, but it helped a lot knowing I’d have my best friend up there with me.  The moment I first got on the stage was absolutely surreal and took away all of my worries and fears.  I’ll always remember it, and every time I went on the stage after that was just as magical.  Walking out on the stage, the bright warm lights shining down on me, elevated above everyone else, the center of attention, and taking the microphone in hand, I felt such a rush of adrenaline and power.  My whole body buzzed, and my heart soared.  I felt like I could do or be anything; I was the star.

Third grade was a very life-changing year for me: the year that I began singing in the John Muir Elementary School Talent Show.  As a kid, I didn’t understand why it was easy for me to do, but I just loved it.  Now, however, I understand the impact of that event.  Singing is something that I’m good at and have a strong passion for.  Whenever I get up on the stage to sing, the adrenaline and magic makes me feel as free as a bird.  On stage, I’m finally free of my insecurity and fear, and when people who hear me sing praise me for my ability, I gain a huge burst of confidence.  Confidence is something that I lacked a lot in elementary school, so having an outlet to prove myself and develop my confidence was life-changing for me.  I began to come out of my shell a bit and was able to find a way to express myself without speaking, through the power of music.

               

The Love of Speed

Wind in my hair, racing down the road without a care.  There’s nothing quite like this feeling, though I suppose you could say that about almost anything really.  But it indeed is a uniquely free and exhilarating sensation.  Whether it’s riding a motorcycle, boating, riding a Ferris wheel, or driving my car fast with the windows down and the music up, it all brings my mood way up.

Riding on the back of my dad’s motorcycle is an especially liberating, sensory experience.  Unlike riding in the car, I’m completely exposed to the world around me and notice things that I probably would have never noticed while driving.  It’s a much more connected experience.  Passing by neighborhoods where people are walking or working in their front lawn, I feel so close to these individuals, like I could reach out and touch them both physically and emotionally.  I’m not separated from these people by a pane of glass, like I would be in a car; instead, they’re right there connected to me.  And as my dad makes it out of town and starts to increase the speed, I revel in the wind pushing and pulling at me; and most of all, I feel the speed.  It makes me feel so wild and free and worries fade away.  All there is is this moment.  I look down at the road, watching it fly by beneath me, the dotted lines of the road becoming a blur of motion, and in this moment the rest of the world seems to fade away and I feel like I’m flying.  No…I am flying, because reality truly is what your mind chooses it to be, and since I felt like I was flying then I truly was.

Another great speedy adventure is boating.  Pretty much it’s the motorcycle exhilaration plus water.  Oh wonderful water…so many fond memories out on the lake.  Ever since I was a baby, summer weekends were spent out boating on Swan Lake.  So, needless to say, there’s also a comfort—the comfort of familiarity—to boating, out on the water that I know so well, feeling the soothing thrum of the motor beneath me, the soft mist of waves splashing at my face as we speed across the lake.  Now I’m a mermaid…a flying mermaid…

…Riding a Ferris wheel.  There’s another fun experience, though the first time I rode a Ferris wheel wasn’t so much, initially at least.  I was in second grade and my older sister’s friend Michelle wanted to take a ride on the Ferris wheel with me and I was excited!  I’d never been on a Ferris wheel before…it looked so fun and it went up so high!  Once we got on the ride and the wheel began spinning however, my stomach went along with it.  I crushed my eyes closed and cringed at every up and down motion, but Michelle held my hand the whole time, and this gave me the courage to calm down and slowly start to get used to the sensation until I actually started to enjoy it.  The up and down spin became a fantastically fun experience, and now that I was able to open my eyes and look around without freaking out, I gazed in wonder at the view.  So high up, everything below looked so small: a dollhouse world.  Way up high in the Ferris wheel there’s a disconnect from the world below me and everything is edged with a cheery, adorably perfect veneer.  When I first get off the ride, that veneer lingers with me, and I think to myself: “What a wonderful world!”

One last experience I’d like to discuss is driving my car with the windows down and the music up.  Pair two wonderful things together—speed and music—and I've got pure magic.  My favorite song blasting on the radio, I bop my head to the music, air guitar-ing, shaking my body about, shuffling my feet, and singing along at the top of my lungs.  When I stop at a stoplight, the person in the car next to me sees my antics and either smiles and laughs at me…or gawks at me like I’m crazy.  Either way, I don’t care what that person thinks because in that moment I’m caught up in pure magic.  …And why should I feel wrong for experiencing that?

I remember when I first started taking behind-the-wheel for driver’s education and had my first time driving with my driving instructor...

One of the first things she commented about was her surprise at how fast I was driving.  Since I’m a shy, quiet person, she thought I’d be a slow, cautious driver.  But she doesn't know the true me: a speed demon with a deep love of speed.

  

The Little-Big Things

There’s nothing quite like a warm cappuccino on a bitter cold day.  Well, at least that’s the case for me.  A couple days ago I treated myself to one of these delicious treats, and I reveled in the warmth, coziness, and pure bliss it gave to me.  But as I was sipping on my cappuccino I lazily, randomly, in my cappuccino-induced-bliss, read what was on the disposable cup.  It said “Experience the Art of Coffee.”  For some reason I thought that sounded really cool and made me think of the “experience” of drinking coffee and the amazing effect that one little thing—such as this one little drink—can have on my emotions, my perspective, and my day.  I’m having a shitty day, I grab a cappuccino and suddenly my day is much better.  Maybe it’s not the best day ever still for me, but it at least is better than it was before.

I think it’s very important that we notice these little things in life that make us happy.  A couple summers ago I posted on my blog a list of things that make me feel happy/cozy and from time to time I like to read through them, especially when I’m feeling a little less than appreciative of my life.  This little list reminds me that no matter what may be going on in my life, there is always something to feel thankful for.  Life is beautiful, a wondrous gift.  We’re so blessed and lucky to live on this extraordinary planet.  To put this into perspective, if the balance between the negative and positive ions in our body were off by merely .00001%, then our bodies would be ripped apart!  We don’t realize how truly lucky we are and how every moment--no matter how dull it may seem—is an awesome gift.  I’m going to repost this list of things that make me happy/cozy below, and I encourage you to create your own list. Also, you should check out this website: http://1000awesomethings.com/.  It's a compilation of the awesome, little-big things of life.

So, be thankful for and enjoy the life you are living.  It is a wonderful one.  J

Things That Make Me Happy and/or Cozy

•Cappuccino with a sweet of some sort

•Cute or sparkly things

 •Hot chocolate on a cold winter's eve

 •Christmas lights

 •Watching Christmas specials

 •Prancing through the snow

 •Christmas Eve and Christmas morning

 •Cuddling with my kitties

 •Hugs

 •Oatmeal

 •Ice cream

 •Macaroni and Cheese, grilled cheese, cheese buns....CHEESE in general! (What can I say...I'm from Wisconsin! ;) LOL)

 •Baking, decorating, and eating Christmas cookies :P

 •Eating cookie dough, cake batter, and frosting while baking

 •All sweets in general :P

 •The crisp feel and smell of a winter's day

 •Daydreaming and philosophizing while floating around in my pool

 •The feel of the Sun on my face on a cold winter's day

 •Hot tubs!

 •The clean, bleach-like smell of motels

 •The smell of chlorine on my skin after a long swim in a swimming pool

 •Dressing up...especially into pretty dresses/gowns

 •The feeling of relief after a huge presentation or exam is done

 •The comfort of milk before bed...makes me feel like I'm a baby again

 •Taking pictures of nature

 •Stargazing

 •Shooting stars

 •Campfires

 •Cloud-gazing

 •Watching fireflies flit about

 •The thrill and freeness of tubing on the lake....Hakuna Matata!

 •Riding motorcycle

 •Comb jellies (they're jelly fish that don't sting, and they feel so amazing!! Squishy and warm)

 •Snorkeling in the ocean

 •Beachcombing

 •The tug of the ocean, pulling at my toes

 •The sound of the ocean's roar

 •Walking by the seaside

 •Pizza!

 •Word games

 •Hiking

 •Thunderstorms

 •The sound of rain

 •The roar of wind while I go to sleep, snug inside in my bed

 •Singing and listening to music

 •Dancing! (even though I suck at it)

 •Owl City concerts...the anticipation, exhilaration, and pure happiness

 •Disney movies

 •Going to the Zoo!

 •Cuddling with my stuffed animals

 •Singing while vacuuming

 •Shoveling while listening to my ipod

 •The smell of hotels

 •Reading late into the night until I almost doze off.

 •Kissing, cuddling, and hugs with my boyfriend

 •Coloring books/ coloring

 •Jammin' out to music in my car with the window down

 •Ocean-y blue colors

 •The scent of coffee

 •The smell of bread baking

 •The smell of sunscreen

Beautiful Uncertainty

So, today I went for a hike in the bitter cold at Schmeeckle Reserve, entering my happy place where nothing can bring me down.  Sure, the crisp air bit at my cheeks and gusts of wind created snowdrifts to “peril-ize” my path, but it all barely bothered me because I was lost in wonder of the world around me.

This morning was a particularly wondrous one.  The temperatures were bitterly cold (around -8 degrees Fahrenheit), but the sun was shining brightly—almost blindingly so—turning the snow-covered path before me into a shimmering, rainbow road.  I gazed at the beautiful, colorful crystals of light as I continued down the path, both mesmerized and filled with childish wonder. 

When I reached an open, sheltered area on the wood plank bridge to Lake Joanis, I stopped and closed my eyes, reveling in the feel of the sun warming my face from the bitter cold.  In that moment I was filled with such peace, feeling a deep connection to the world around me.  The Sun became a live being, a comforter, who both literally and figuratively shined a whole new light and warmth upon my world.  What was once a world of lifeless drudgery, disharmony, and confusion became a world of such beauty, warmth, and peace.  It truly is amazing how Nature can change our perspectives so deeply…and how the artificiality, structure, and busy-ness of society can turn us into mindless machines who have no time to “stop and smell the roses,” so to speak.

The Earth is such a complex, diverse, bizarre, contradictory, and delightful, but dangerously unpredictable, place.  The unpredictability of Nature is something we humans have the most issue with.  We want certainty in life because of the very fact that we live in a world that lacks certainty.  Nothing is truly certain: weather can change drastically without warning (cold, heat, blizzards, hurricanes, etc…), death can never be predicted and often happens to those we feel do not deserve it, and even the humans around us who we think we are certain about can turn around and change on us and do hurtful things to us.

To compensate for all this uncertainty, we try to create an illusion of certainty with our structured buildings, homes, laws, roads, businesses, and jobs.  Eventually we find a partner and possibly bear children to complete the sense of certainty and security, but the irony is that the more certainty you wrap yourself and the world around you in, the easier it is for that certainty to disappear and be replaced with an abundance of uncertainty that’s enough to paralyze you, a shock to the system.  Once you’re too certain of the world around you, you lose a grip on the true reality: nothing is certain.  So, when uncertainties begin to crowd your world, it’s like being hit in the chest by a ton of bricks.  Everything you believe in becomes questioned.

 I've been giving a lot of thought about uncertainty lately.  As my boyfriend Marshall and I’s relationship continues to progress, I become more and more certain…but I also have a lingering uncertainty.  It’s not the uncertainty of my love for Marshall: that’s one thing I’m completely, unquestionably certain about.  I think that love is one thing we can count on to be certain of in this world.  Once we have fallen in love with someone, that love never truly dies.  The uncertainty I feel is whether Marshall will always be with me, and how I would deal with the possibility of losing him from my life.  I hate to think of this because I honestly thrive on certainty…I don’t really like change unless it’s planned, and I’m definitely not one who likes to take major risks or do dangerous activities.

Yet……

Sometimes I do like uncertainty: taking a chance on romance, the first date, the first kiss, the first love-making…and especially the uncertainty of nature: storms, sunshine, clouds, rain, snow, ice, cold, heat, wind, etc…

Therefore, maybe we secretly, innately thrive for uncertainty, but we are taught to repress it by society and its structure.  That’s probably why I love being out in nature so much—its unpredictable, whimsical weather and its beautiful but dangerous environment and creatures.  Life is meant to be unpredictable, and maybe that’s a good thing because life is truly beautiful, unique, and perhaps even everlasting.