How do I keep busy?

Aside from the homework, the film viewing, the voracious reading, writing, helping people, playing piano, and doing all things blog, email, and IM -- I also draw. [And some people think I only like Mathematics -- ha!] Sometimes, I draw completely from imagination, creating a character in unique clothing/pose, or doing a new hand drawing. These two drawings I did during class; the girl during Computer Science, and my right hand during my Literature class, when we discussed Things Fall Apart, by Chinua Achebe:

Other times, I do a drawing based on a picture from somewhere out there.

Since sometime in December, I've been working, off and on, on a picture still from the movie X-Men. I finished it today. The most frustrating part initially was Ian McKellen's face, as I thought he was the sole favourite actor of the person for whom I was drawing it. Then, I found out Patrick Stewart is his other favourite actor. Patrick Stewart's face, you may or may not agree, is very distinctive, even profile-wise. I'm not completely satisfied with the result, but here it is:

Guilty, as charged

As a few delightful, delicious, and de-lovely people have already pointed it out, I guess I ought to acknowledge that today, I am golden.

Thank you for the well wishes; I hope everyone has a nice day!

Tidbits

Since last time, I've had the privilege to play Clue and Clue: The Great Museum Caper with Princess and the Stud. He was in rare form that night; it was good seeing him again.

Also, my aunt's surgery went according to plan, and I returned home twelve hours after I left. As to whether the fistula actually works for dialysis... well, we won't know for at least two months, as the vein needs time to grow.

Yesterday, I was [briefly] a Llama Butcher hero.

This is my last weekend home, and I'm going to try to make the most of it.

On Monday, after spending the morning at the Knowledge Bowl meet being hosted at my old high school, I'm headed back up to college. Classes start Tuesday.

Also, this week is apparently National De-Lurking Week. So, how about it? 'Ullo out there??

1st Annual

[note: until after Christmas Day, this post will remain at the top.]

Dear Friends,

Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! [Insert your favourite seasonal greeting here]] It's hard to believe it's December already. Everyone has been so busy with various activities that 2005 has just flown by. Here, for your enjoyment, is a recap of this year's occurrences in my family:

On 14 May, I was born to two proud [and rather elated, I think, but I'm biased] parents. Unfortunately, I can't say much more from before that. I know Mom helped me to grow, encouraging me to come into this big world, the blogosphere. Since then, I've survived prom, graduating high school, and starting college. Finals loom over my head, but I enjoyed the friends I've made, the reading and film viewing and writing that I do. But enough about me -- onto the family:

Mom remains as busy as ever. She left us for a short while, and came back with a new makeover. It's really nice, and requires less maintenance on her part -- she can be just Christina. We're glad she's still with us. She continues to preside over the Ones -- both Wee and Sweet -- whilst working with more boxes of rocks than I'd like to imagine. Fortunately, all were safe during hurricane weather, and she was able to go get her classy mother. Also this year, she initiated a delightful game of Fictional Friday, and allowed me to take over the 25 word challenge. She remains the "delight of our eyes."

Fa has had to deal with a lot of mockery from others this year, but dishes it back just as well. Work's been hectic for him as well, even if the coding is fun. He enjoys spending time with his cats, his mullet, his mother, and fellow bloggers at various meets. I rhink he was shocked when I appeared, but he seems to be used to having a daughter now. My fa is always good for a laugh -- a dose of Zonker is oft just what you need to brighten your day.

Aunt Sadie is ever the wit. Just classic -- in her words and her web designs. That's right, she and my uncle Phin, another wit in rare form and a father-to-be, opened a successful business together in August. Sadie and I oft commiserate over our homework and studying, or reminisce reading Kilgore. Sometimes the lovely lady Sadie needs to get away from it all, and flies off to Majorca. But, thankfully, she hasn't yet been abducted, and always finds her way back to the family's loving arms. [The carrot cake helps.]

And speaking of travelling aunts, sweet 'n' sassy Silk went to Africa earlier this year! She had a blast, and met a very cool monkey... in other meeting news, Aunt Silk met da Godfaddah Nugget, an ever-classy gentleman many of us adore. Needless to say, she was starstruck, and I do believe the feeling was mutual. Quite delightful. In other news, Silk's been kept busy lately with a grand opening at work, and quite recent hosted Fictional Friday 2.0: the Picture Edition, whilst Nuggets been entertained by the antics of the little addition to his household -- quite the adorable cat.

The Phoenix Coz has been busy as well -- and will soon hold her treasured household addition in her arms. She became a champion of FF 2.0 with her SpySistah Chronicles, which left us just astounded. She also joined the ranks of Diva, and gives grand advice. I personally think she will make a great mother.

The Dashing Brother still has posts which won't allow me to stop laughing! More recently, he's been occupied by all sorts of work projects, and more especially, the joys of hunting. Hopefully he'll bring something good home to the dear wife and kids.

Rather abruptly one day, a branch of relative I'd never before had the pleasure of meeting came to visit. I gained a granddaddy, an aunt, and an uncle, and I always enjoy hearing from them and going to their places to listen to their great speeches.

In other news, close friends who are practically family have, for example, visitied Taiwan and made plans for Australia in the case of Mark, survived hurricanes [both weather and small boys] in the case of Bou, travelled to Europe recently [with the little Puffy expected] and charmed us with music in the case of Stiggy and Va-va, and kept us up-to-date on flyfishing, sports, entertainment, and family in the case of the Wiz.

Fortunately, all seemed to survive weather conditions, other complications, and life in general with only scrapes and bruises thus far. I hope and pray that this continues, and also that you and yours are well. From all of us,

Merry Christmas!
Love, Amelie and family.

[crossposted here]
[[I apologize for the massive amounts of linkage.]]

Just because fa asked so nicely...

I'm posting this quotation which I shared with him:

"Sometimes conversations are like dentistry, and I get sick of pulling teeth all the time."

--Amelie

Finale

I am really going to miss these stories. All were delightful, and a wonderful perusing for the weekend. I eagerly anticipated Fridays for exactly that reason. Granted, I was not always able to contribute, though I would have liked to do so. I really wanted to get something up for the finale, so my afternoon consisted of walking, writing, meeting the Princess's boyfriend, and going to a friend's swim meet this early evening. When I got back, I wrote the last paragraph and trimmed to 1000 words.

I'm not even sure if I like what I've written yet, so let me know, honestly, your feelings about it. That would be much appreciated.

So, my end to the glorious brilliance began by one classy lady and ended by another [with a twist to the prompt]. Thank you, dears, for letting and getting the rest of us into this.

And speaking of the rest of us, I encourage you to read the literary offerings of Phoenix, Silk, Nugget, Rina, and Dawn. Each one is well worth the read. [UPDATE: Jeff has written to delight us as well.]

Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you:

Daughters of Mnemosyne

Head in hands, Rue couldn’t believe Thalia had gone. Thal had been her friend when she was first struggling to survive out in the world alone. That woman had comforted her, shaped her, and had always been there for her when she was struggling to find the right thing to say. Poof! Just like that, she had vanished without a trace.

Rue glanced around the room. It was bleak, stark, pristine, so utterly unlived in. To what place had her imagination disappeared? She used to be able to fill such places with a warmth in which other people found delight, but now she just felt like an empty shell; the words were gone.

><

A bus crossed the intersection, and in that disturbance of the bright neon lights, a woman appeared, silhouetted.

“Clio? Is that you?” The young man shifted uneasily on the street before her. “I’m sorry I didn’t make enough time for you, doll. I –“

But she cast a silence upon him with only a glance. Johnson knew. He knew that if he’d wanted, she could have given him the world. But he’d been too wrapped up in the job to let her nurture his talents, too wrapped up in the now to record the history of his mind and soul.

And now she was going off into the night. He wished her could say something, anything, to try to explain to her why he had not pursued his dreams, why he had neglected her. But the words wouldn’t come; they stayed choked up inside, jumbled in a mess, and fading along with her footsteps. His eloquence was gone.

><

An unkempt man sat on the park bench. He looked at the stale bread crusts in his hands. His stomach rumbled, but he broke one of the crusts into pieces for the pigeons nearby. He placed the other in his lap, and was about to toss the napkin in which he had found them into the water, when an unusual feeling came upon him.

He saw the world in a whole new light. Descriptions tore across his soul, wrenching emotions from him. He badly needed an outlet, but how, with what?

“Here.” She handed him a ballpoint pen. He scrambled to write, pouring stream after stream of words onto the napkin, when they suddenly stopped. Exhausted, he dropped the pen. On it were the faded letters “C-A-L-L-I.” He glanced around for the woman, and noticed no one was there. The mysterious woman had gone.

><

“Honey, you have to snap out of it! You can still write – look at the bestsellers you’ve produced! Why, they’re gems of society. Everyone’s been delighted, just delighted, with your work. You can’t stop now! Your contract says [blah blah ….],” the woman kept blathering on and on.

Head once again in her hands, Rue wished she could just go away. Unfortunately, she was stuck in a mandatory meeting. She’d missed deadline after deadline, and she couldn’t seem to do anything about it.

The door opened after a quick knock. “Ah, there you are! Rue, honey, I’d like you to meet your new secretary, Mel Pomene. We’ve hired her for you,…” the woman kept talking, but Rue wasn’t listening.

She stared at the girl, just briefly as she sat in the chair next to her. As words poured back into her soul, she snatched a pen from her purse. She immediately started writing – not the light humour of her previous work, but of a darkness, a sadness. This is going to be good, she thought as she scribbled away…

><

“Johnson, what is this?” His boss handed him a sheet of paper. On it was written a poem to the goddess of starlight. He suppressed a grin, and said, “It appears to be a poem, sir.” He thought of the lovely girls who had moved into the flat next door. Rania and Poly were delightful to be with, and he felt as though his eloquence had returned to him in a new form. He was abruptly awakened by the words, “Johnson, you’re fired. I want you out of this office complex in an hour.”

“Yes, sir,” he muttered absentmindedly. He left the office, and wandered around the city, taking in the scenes. He was detached from the job, at long last, and on his way to better beginnings.

As he walked down a lonely street, two figures emerged in the bright lights. Rania and Poly linked their arms in his as he sang their praises. They were more delightful, more sacred than the stars twinkling high up above. His golden words warmed them as they snuggled closer, winking at each other.

><

The unkempt man trudged down the path. He no longer found inspiration by the waters of the park, and needed a new place. He found himself at a beach, lone but for two figures. One young lady was dancing an interpretation according to the rhythms of the other, who was playing upon a ukulele. He stood transfixed, taking in how perfectly they had captured the scene, the elements of the day, with their art.

The one beckoned him to approach, and as he moved closer, he felt himself swaying. He reached their spot by the water’s edge, and dropped to his knees in awe of their talent. Slowly, he pulled out his old ballpoint to write words to match the music’s mood.

He gazed at it fondly, remembering the frenzy of words he had written when he first received it, and suddenly dropped it as though it were on fire. It no longer said, “C-A-L-L-I.” The letters, bright and new, were stranger. They read, “E-U-T-E-R-P-S-I-C-H-O-R.”

He picked it up gingerly, and began to write. He wrote as the music faded away, along with the footsteps in the sand as the women left him. Slowly he fell into a tranquil sleep.

><

A voluptuous lady sashayed down the aisle. She’d make sure the groom spoke the best love poetry possible to his bride. The lady's name? Erato.

Thought for Today II

"Many of us have heard opportunity knocking at our door, but by the time we unhooked the chain, pushed back the bolt, turned two locks, and shut off the burglar alarm -- it was gone."

Seeing Red

This past weekend, I saw an old friend [as mentioned in #5 of the previous post]. Jocco and I were relatively close friends, although he and I were never quite as close as Seamus and I. The Age of Seamus was beginning just as the Age of Jocco was ending, because they were only both here with me for one year before Jocco moved away.

Jocco was often over playing with my brother, and when we moved to Minnesota, his family moved at the same time. Our parents were good friends, and our fathers were both professors at the same college. He lived on the other side of the football field from us when we lived in a campus house. Hence, we saw a lot of each other.

Jocco returned to the hometown area this year, to attend the college where our father had taught together for 6 years. When I was home this weekend, and attending a volleyball tournament for colleges [mine and his included], I spotted him, and had the chance to chat with him briefly.

I already knew that he was in the pastor track there. This means that, inevitably, he would have my father for a professor. The question merely is, how soon and how many classes total? Jocco informed me that he will have my father next semester -- for Latin -- and he's scared out of his mind.

My father has the reputation of being the toughest professor on campus. He also has the reputation of being the smartest professor on campus. He's also certainly very helpful to his students, and they all have utmost respect for him. They learn a lot from him, and he expects them to do so. ... He reminds me a bit of Chips.

Nevertheless, almost any time I meet a pastor-track student there, and they find out I'm HIS daughter, I hear about all the things they've heard about how tough his classes are, but how good, and how they just hope to PASS them! [And some have even heard things from fathers, uncles, and other professors about how my father may be tough and very intelligent, but my grandfather was impossible! Yes, my family has quite the academic reputation..]

Considering it was Jocco, I decided to clue him into a secret. Some students have picked up on it before, other years, but not all of them know about it at first. So, explanation:

My father is very specific about his ties. Whenever he gets a tie for a gift, it's not allowed to be too expensive [he thinks all ties should cost $2-3]. Also, it can't be too wild, or too geometric. There are only so many colours he'll wear, and only so many colours that can be on one tie. Typical absent-minded professor type. His favourite colour is grey. He wears a suit every day -- very classy.

Now the secret is that, whenever AT LEAST one of his classes has a quiz, he wears a red tie. He does this faithfully. Sometimes, it's almost all of his classes that have quizzes. He's very faithful about it. Now, as I mentioned, some of the students have picked up on it. They try to find out his tie colour early in the day, so that they can study frantically if need be.

Occasionally, though, when he's feeling mischievous, he will wear a regular, non-red tie during most of the day, and then change to a red one in his office before the beginning of whichever of his later classes has a quiz.

A good man, my father.

Fabrics

Unfortunately, I am late with this, but blogger's also been down for about an hour. That's right, I am partaking in the genius of my darling blogmother, whose work in this particular case is being carried on by a lady of equal greatness, my blogaunt Silk. Silk changed the premise to three inspiring pictures. For once, I actually used two of them. This Friday only, ladies and gentlemen, my blogmother is hosting it again for Silk at Silk's whilst the dear adventurous blogaunt goes on safari, so to speak. Limited supplies, so be sure to stop by!

This idea started creeping and crawling through my brain on Tuesday, and I began to write it then, but college took over until this afternoon. Here is my contribution:

Crysten dusted off the old trunk with her fingers. Slowly, she uncovered the words Theatrical Productions, worn as they were. She was in the loft of the carriage house she had just purchased. It was located behind an old theatre mansion of great renown, which still held an air of past glory about it. Here, the real estate agent had said, many brilliant works had been performed in all elegance and splendour – masterpieces at every turn. No one ever entered that building anymore. It was said to no longer be structurally sound, and visited, so to speak, by those who know no use for doors.

Her fingers traced the letters on the trunk. Gingerly, she unlatched the lock and carefully opened the lid. Moths flew out at her, stirring the dust around. The insects did not faze her. She stared, awestruck, at the contents of the trunk. Inside was a treasure trove. Silks of regal colours lay before her, faded yet still magical. Beaded gowns, intricate sashes, frilled shirts. A wide array of whimsical costumes lay before her. She felt as though she knew the exhilaration Howard Carter had known at Tutankhamen’s tomb in 1922.

She brushed against the fabric, and as it rustled, she was transformed entirely

– the sensation felt like she was drowning. All around her was darkness as she gasped for breath, reaching out and around until she was –

suddenly a floor dancer. It was evening, and she was entering a great performance hall – seemingly of the theatre mansion, but in days of yore. The room was brightly lit, and full of guests in high dress. All around her were members of her troupe, dressed in similar rich and lustrous attire. She glanced down, and gasped. She was wearing the fabric she had just touched, but it was in mint condition. Crysten noted the headdresses of those surrounding her, and felt the top of her head. She was dressed just as they were, from head to toe.

And then they were rushing forward with the start of the music. She leaped, she pirouetted, she danced as all the others danced. Inside, Crysten panicked as the tempo picked up. She had no reason to be frazzled, however; her feet seemed to know all the steps already. Her body flowed with the music as she whirled around the long sash she hadn’t been holding until a moment ago. Or had she?

She twirled and swayed as

– she found herself in darkness again. Swimming with the swirling nothingness around her this time, she found herself swept away. The fabric ripped away from her, leaving her empty, and then she –

was in the arms of an unfamiliar man. His kiss was so sweet, his grasp so strong. Music danced about them, Music and its masked partner, Time. A masqueraded meeting, and a forbidden one? It felt that way to Crysten. But why did he have such a heavenly glow about him? She resisted his clutches, and started to run. Yet she could not escape. He held her by the black angel wings on her back. She looked back, and his eyes pleaded with her. As much as she wanted to stay with him, to be his, instinct told her that it would be wrong. There was something against her laws here. Her laws, or the laws of her family. No ‘fallen angels’ for ‘heavenly beings.’ She flung his hands away as she raced from him. Once outside, Crysten hid her face in shame and sorrow as the mists enveloped her.

The mist gave way to a tranquil, lonely beach. And as she looked down, she noticed

– the colours churned about her, pinks and violets and mosses mixing together, a rainbow scene before the darkness fell upon her again, and then she –

was a nereid. She was robed in the elements of the sea. Its spray kissed her skin and she dove into its waves. Its colours covered her body. Her pores opened to the sea’s caressing touch, and she began to sing its praises. Crysten did not recognize the voice, nor did she understand the words coming forth from her lips. Her mouth seemed to know what it was saying, though, and the sea found it pleasing. She sang about the joy of the sea, its power, its gentleness, and the creatures came from the deep to listen.

By the light of the moon, she beckoned them forth, embracing them. She nurtured their young, laughed at their spunk. The old she soothed. She swooned at the acts of the mighty males, and their praises she added to those of the sea. The mothers she greeted as sisters, and her words spun a golden light about them all.

They nudged at her hand gently, hoping for the favour of her touch. And once again, her hand slipped from that fabric, and she

– saw the stars bursting forth. Beautiful streams of light were emitted, bright and clear. And the sun came blazing toward her, warming and drying her skin, --

turning her into a bronze goddess. She leapt onto the passing chariot, pulled by four majestic, fiery horses. The god driving the team smiled, greeting her as old friends do. Then, stepping aside, he let her guide the team as they traveled across the sky. Crysten gulped, fearing she would lose control. But her hands were firm and strong, and she guided the team well.

Far below, she could see the people of the world, toiling away at their duties, interacting with each other. To her, this view was a beautiful thing. Smiling with satisfaction, she passed the reins back to him, and as her fingers left the smooth golden leather, she

– found herself once more spinning in darkness. Now, though, the darkness was comforting to her, like an old friend. She wished for it to continue, and –

it took her back whence she came. She found herself sitting in the carriage loft, before the trunk; her fingers had fallen to the floor.

The perfect scenario.

She was his go-to girl. He could always talk to her about his problems. When he liked a girl, or didn't know what to do; when he was lost at the bottomless hole of homework, or his family was having problems, she would listen very patiently and would help him sort it out.

She always had the best advice on what to do and how to handle it. He routinely updated her on the status of his relationships, and what was going on in his life. When something went wrong, or relationships went awry, she was the first person to hear then, too. She carried him through those situations every time, and quite willingly. She genuinely cared about him.

Whenever he worried about her getting sick of hearing that sort all the time, she'd laugh it off. That's what friends are for, right? she'd say. She wasn't just his go-to girl, though. She helped a lot of her guy friends in the same way. Some girls, too, to be sure, but it's more striking to the guys to have a girl that they can talk to about this. She enjoyed being useful to her friends, as they found someone special. She just sometimes wished someone would find her.

..

Here he was, again, telling her all his woes. He described his problem. There's this girl, he seemed to be saying, and I really think it's love this time. She listened once again as he described this girl with whom he held such fascination. The girl he was describing seemed just perfect for him, and it was obvious he cared more for this one than he had for other girls. It was someone she didn't know, someone with whom he had already long been friends. A relationship of the nature that he wanted was a subject that never came up between them, and he wanted to know how to get that to happen.

Happy for him, she prescribed that he go to the girl, right now, whilst he was still confident, whilst he was in a moment of knowing exactly what he wanted to say and how to say it. He should go and ask her right now. He thanked her with a hug and departed.

She shut the door, and slid her back down it till she was sitting on the floor. She held her head in her hands, crying. Would none of them ever see her? Abruptly, she heard a rapping on the door. She stood up as she rubbed at her eyes and opened the door a crack.

Standing there was the guy, one and the same. He shifted awkwardly, briefly, before saying sheepishly, I'd like to ask you a question.

And then she was in his arms, finally found.