I'm not sure if my blog is even read but just in case...
I am testing out a new blog space at www.virb.com/linebyline. If you like to read my stuff come visit me there for the time being until I decide which site is right for me.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Confessions of a Book Addict
I have an addiction.
It has to do with books.
I love books. I think they are a wonderful creation. A great way to share stories and experience things one might otherwise not experience. But I have a problem. I want to read too many books, all at once. So, for instance, I have about 15 right now in a stack in my room, waiting. A waiting list of 15. And that's just the ones that I have bought. Don't even get me started with the ones on my indigo wish list and the ones that enter my sights in between. I also read around 4 at once. I don’t think this is healthy.
I walk into book stores and the mixture of smells intrigues me (I know, this is sounding creepy). The new binding book smell, with all of the crisp pages and fresh ink and then the faint smell of espresso. It's a beautiful thing. I think, if they would let me, I could live quite contently in a large books store sleeping in the arm chairs and living off scones and biscotti.
Used bookstores are like a treasure hunt. You find the creased and aging yellowness of the musty books and buy them for fractions of the original price. There is something to be said about both new and used books.
In my addiction I end up with various styles and genres of books. Some of which I am pretty sure they will take me longer to read. Sometimes years. Mainly because they are not fiction. But I read these books anyway and discover new things. Yet, every once in a while I find a book that I know is great.
And here is how I know.
When I find a book that grabs me and drags me into the depths of its line and verse I know. I know because I carry it around much similar to a 3 year old and her favourite doll. It travels in my purse, to various rooms in the house, it sits on my lap while I watch TV and then I attempt to read it during commercials. This is the sign of a great book.
I realized this reaction today as I noticed that since reading the prologue to Mark Steele's "Flash Bang" on Saturday night it has accompanied me to church, to the kitchen, to the TV room and to my room variously throughout the past day. It's a good book, an easy read, and I'm going to learn something. I know it.
So, this is my random confession of my book addict self and a brief referral to what believe is going to be a thoroughly enjoyed, laugh-out-loud, I-may-learn-something sort of book. A gem, you could say.
It has to do with books.
I love books. I think they are a wonderful creation. A great way to share stories and experience things one might otherwise not experience. But I have a problem. I want to read too many books, all at once. So, for instance, I have about 15 right now in a stack in my room, waiting. A waiting list of 15. And that's just the ones that I have bought. Don't even get me started with the ones on my indigo wish list and the ones that enter my sights in between. I also read around 4 at once. I don’t think this is healthy.
I walk into book stores and the mixture of smells intrigues me (I know, this is sounding creepy). The new binding book smell, with all of the crisp pages and fresh ink and then the faint smell of espresso. It's a beautiful thing. I think, if they would let me, I could live quite contently in a large books store sleeping in the arm chairs and living off scones and biscotti.
Used bookstores are like a treasure hunt. You find the creased and aging yellowness of the musty books and buy them for fractions of the original price. There is something to be said about both new and used books.
In my addiction I end up with various styles and genres of books. Some of which I am pretty sure they will take me longer to read. Sometimes years. Mainly because they are not fiction. But I read these books anyway and discover new things. Yet, every once in a while I find a book that I know is great.
And here is how I know.
When I find a book that grabs me and drags me into the depths of its line and verse I know. I know because I carry it around much similar to a 3 year old and her favourite doll. It travels in my purse, to various rooms in the house, it sits on my lap while I watch TV and then I attempt to read it during commercials. This is the sign of a great book.
I realized this reaction today as I noticed that since reading the prologue to Mark Steele's "Flash Bang" on Saturday night it has accompanied me to church, to the kitchen, to the TV room and to my room variously throughout the past day. It's a good book, an easy read, and I'm going to learn something. I know it.
So, this is my random confession of my book addict self and a brief referral to what believe is going to be a thoroughly enjoyed, laugh-out-loud, I-may-learn-something sort of book. A gem, you could say.
Morning Mayhem
Since I’ve returned home I’ve been using my sister’s old alarm clock. It’s an ancient clock radio sort of thing. Not very noteworthy or noticeable. Actually it’s kind of ugly. It doesn’t even work. It should play the radio, but it doesn’t. It’s sporadic at best. Most of the time the alarm comes on and just hums the deep buzz of dead air space. But, I think it’s great. I have always hated the incessant shrill of the usual alarm. It makes me mad. The last thing we need is a grumpy, caffeine-free Colleen.
So over the past two months I’ve gently awoken to this soft hum… until today. It was a unique experience today. I was sleeping, and in the throws of that pleasant place of dreams just before one awakes. And then the alarm went off.
“FIRE”
I sat up straight and looked around in a panic. I am pretty much blind without my glasses so I patted around and then placed them on my face. And then I heard the talking continue and my mind pieced together the sentence I had missed.
“Fire raged in a downtown house. Two were injured. In sports today…”
Still not a pleasant way to wake up, but my panic subsided and I started to breathe normally again. Then I continued my day as usual…… unaffected.
So over the past two months I’ve gently awoken to this soft hum… until today. It was a unique experience today. I was sleeping, and in the throws of that pleasant place of dreams just before one awakes. And then the alarm went off.
“FIRE”
I sat up straight and looked around in a panic. I am pretty much blind without my glasses so I patted around and then placed them on my face. And then I heard the talking continue and my mind pieced together the sentence I had missed.
“Fire raged in a downtown house. Two were injured. In sports today…”
Still not a pleasant way to wake up, but my panic subsided and I started to breathe normally again. Then I continued my day as usual…… unaffected.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Darcy Versus Victoria
You could call me a Janeite.
Over the past 2 years I have been introduced to the literary works of Jane Austen. I wasn’t sure at first how I would like Pride & Prejudice, but one of my favourite things to do is to read the book before the movie. As the DVD release date of P&P approached I bought the book and began to read. After a first few tough chapters, and as I embraced the language and style, I was hooked.
So I then I watched the movie. I loved it.
So I watched Gwyneth Paltrow in Emma. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Then I borrowed or bought every one of her novels and read them from beginning to end.
I was hooked. It was so bad that I actually took out a book from the library that was just about her. No narrative, just a long biography of the bits and pieces that we know about this woman’s life.
Jane Austen became my literary hero.
I was talking with one of my guy friends in the autumn, and I told him about my recent interest in Jane Austen and her books. And he scoffed.
That’s right. He was disgusted with me.
His facial expression would have said it all, but then he followed it with “I hate Jane Austen”. Well, I was hurt. How could he say that about my friend? I gathered my composure and dove in.
“What exactly don’t you like?”
“Well, I hate how she makes it impossible for men to please women. She sets up these perfect stories with these outrageous men who are so romantic, and I’m just not that kind of a guy. So I hate her. I hate how she ruined women.”
“Oh.”
Recently I was watching TV, and I don’t know if all of these fragmented thoughts finally caught up to me from TV, movies and commercials, but I thought “I hate Hollywood.” It had nothing to do with the people there at all. I’m sure they are all very nice. It had everything to do with what I was watching and how it made me feel.
I feel fat. I feel ugly. I feel imperfect. I feel badly dressed. I feel unsexy.
All of the commercials and the billboards and the TV shows slammed together. And I thought, I can’t live up to that. I can’t have the flat tummy or the unblemished face or the cellulite free body. I’ll never be like that. Meanwhile I compare myself to these women, whom I admit are very beautiful and I am sure very nice, and I feel invisible.
And as I considered these thoughts of my inconsequential value, I wondered how I would ever feel comfortable dating with these perfectly created women staring at my man over my shoulder. And I realized that I had the very same problem as my friend had with Jane Austen. I was angered by the media who portray this “ideal woman” that I could never live up to, and that in return would cause whomever I met to long for said woman.
I don’t think it is fair that Jane Austen was blamed for suggesting all the romantic gestures of a man into the minds of women. Just as it is not the model in Victoria Secret or actress to be blamed for my insecurities. The media and advertisers, yes, but the models, no.
But I do see a potential problem that we need to work out.
As women we need to be secure in ourselves despite what the media portrays that we should be. God didn’t create imperfect and perfect looking people, he created man and woman and they were good, in all our shapes, sizes and styles. And at the same time we need to see the potential pressure we may put on the men to live up to a romantic ideal. I know that I am guilty of putting these beautiful romantic gestures and situations into my head, and then believing that it is the only way.
At the same time I hope that the men in our life realize the struggle us women have living up to the portrayed “ideal woman”, and that they in turn will take the time to encourage and appreciate us just the way we are.
Over the past 2 years I have been introduced to the literary works of Jane Austen. I wasn’t sure at first how I would like Pride & Prejudice, but one of my favourite things to do is to read the book before the movie. As the DVD release date of P&P approached I bought the book and began to read. After a first few tough chapters, and as I embraced the language and style, I was hooked.
So I then I watched the movie. I loved it.
So I watched Gwyneth Paltrow in Emma. I thoroughly enjoyed it.
Then I borrowed or bought every one of her novels and read them from beginning to end.
I was hooked. It was so bad that I actually took out a book from the library that was just about her. No narrative, just a long biography of the bits and pieces that we know about this woman’s life.
Jane Austen became my literary hero.
I was talking with one of my guy friends in the autumn, and I told him about my recent interest in Jane Austen and her books. And he scoffed.
That’s right. He was disgusted with me.
His facial expression would have said it all, but then he followed it with “I hate Jane Austen”. Well, I was hurt. How could he say that about my friend? I gathered my composure and dove in.
“What exactly don’t you like?”
“Well, I hate how she makes it impossible for men to please women. She sets up these perfect stories with these outrageous men who are so romantic, and I’m just not that kind of a guy. So I hate her. I hate how she ruined women.”
“Oh.”
Recently I was watching TV, and I don’t know if all of these fragmented thoughts finally caught up to me from TV, movies and commercials, but I thought “I hate Hollywood.” It had nothing to do with the people there at all. I’m sure they are all very nice. It had everything to do with what I was watching and how it made me feel.
I feel fat. I feel ugly. I feel imperfect. I feel badly dressed. I feel unsexy.
All of the commercials and the billboards and the TV shows slammed together. And I thought, I can’t live up to that. I can’t have the flat tummy or the unblemished face or the cellulite free body. I’ll never be like that. Meanwhile I compare myself to these women, whom I admit are very beautiful and I am sure very nice, and I feel invisible.
And as I considered these thoughts of my inconsequential value, I wondered how I would ever feel comfortable dating with these perfectly created women staring at my man over my shoulder. And I realized that I had the very same problem as my friend had with Jane Austen. I was angered by the media who portray this “ideal woman” that I could never live up to, and that in return would cause whomever I met to long for said woman.
I don’t think it is fair that Jane Austen was blamed for suggesting all the romantic gestures of a man into the minds of women. Just as it is not the model in Victoria Secret or actress to be blamed for my insecurities. The media and advertisers, yes, but the models, no.
But I do see a potential problem that we need to work out.
As women we need to be secure in ourselves despite what the media portrays that we should be. God didn’t create imperfect and perfect looking people, he created man and woman and they were good, in all our shapes, sizes and styles. And at the same time we need to see the potential pressure we may put on the men to live up to a romantic ideal. I know that I am guilty of putting these beautiful romantic gestures and situations into my head, and then believing that it is the only way.
At the same time I hope that the men in our life realize the struggle us women have living up to the portrayed “ideal woman”, and that they in turn will take the time to encourage and appreciate us just the way we are.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
American Gladiators…And Me.
Recently my family and I have returned to an old favourite show: American Gladiator. My dad and I watched the original when I was younger, and were thrilled to see it return. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how much I would like it now, but a few episodes, a preacher and a soccer mom later I was hooked. Now it is our Monday night show.
It’s 2008, ain’t it great, and as always with a new year I have made my New Year’s resolutions. They are the usual culprits: eat healthier, drink more water, and exercise more. I have been a runner for 5 years now, so the cardio bit isn’t so hard to get back into, but the weights I could do without. But I’m determined. And so I scheduled my week days running days, and weight days, and rest day. Monday ended up being one of my weight days.
I searched for a job before Christmas and was lucky enough to score one before the holidays at everyone’s favourite electronic store, Best Buy. My Part-time hours consist of Mondays and Fridays. I work all day Monday.
All of these circumstances collided three weeks ago. And I ended up doing my weights on Monday nights after work during American Gladiators.
Lucky for me, our universal weight machine is within visual distance of the big TV. Yet, yesterday I started thinking about my weight training during this show of strength and endurance, and I came to a few conclusions.
1. It was rather ironic. How often do you plan your pumping iron with those who are already pumped beyond anything you could ever achieve?
2. It could also be discouraging, because I know that no matter how hard I try I will never have Siren’s abs.
3. It could be motivating to watch those people taking on giants and their own weaknesses. It just makes you want to start doing sit-ups.
Needless to say, American Gladiator doesn’t generally motivate me, but it does remind me to get over to the weight machine instead of slumping on the couch. One thing the show does remind me of though, is the underdog.
That’s one of the things that I know most people can agree with. We love to see the underdog succeed. Whether it is Soccer mom schooling Helga; the giants defeating the patriots; the joes blowing away the pros; the geek getting the girl from the jock; Cinderella putting it to her stepsisters; or David killing Goliath.
We love the underdog.
The more I think about the underdog I realize that he has most of the world on his side. We encourage him to press on despite the difficulties. We make signs for him. We talk trash talk for him.
And as I worked with the free weights I realized that I am not much different than those I cheer for, except that I don’t motivate myself so well as I would motivate them. I don’t cheer myself on as much as I cheer for them.
Does that make sense? As much as we are to encourage one another to press on and push through, what do we do for ourselves?
Would God not want us to encourage and love ourselves as much as those around us? I think he would. So I’ve made a new resolution. I’ve decided that I want to motivate me to be the best I can be in whatever arena I find myself in. And by being confident and passionate in what I do I hope I can spur on those and encourage those around me.
If I’m to truly love my neighbor I need to love God and receive the love that he gives me...
It’s 2008, ain’t it great, and as always with a new year I have made my New Year’s resolutions. They are the usual culprits: eat healthier, drink more water, and exercise more. I have been a runner for 5 years now, so the cardio bit isn’t so hard to get back into, but the weights I could do without. But I’m determined. And so I scheduled my week days running days, and weight days, and rest day. Monday ended up being one of my weight days.
I searched for a job before Christmas and was lucky enough to score one before the holidays at everyone’s favourite electronic store, Best Buy. My Part-time hours consist of Mondays and Fridays. I work all day Monday.
All of these circumstances collided three weeks ago. And I ended up doing my weights on Monday nights after work during American Gladiators.
Lucky for me, our universal weight machine is within visual distance of the big TV. Yet, yesterday I started thinking about my weight training during this show of strength and endurance, and I came to a few conclusions.
1. It was rather ironic. How often do you plan your pumping iron with those who are already pumped beyond anything you could ever achieve?
2. It could also be discouraging, because I know that no matter how hard I try I will never have Siren’s abs.
3. It could be motivating to watch those people taking on giants and their own weaknesses. It just makes you want to start doing sit-ups.
Needless to say, American Gladiator doesn’t generally motivate me, but it does remind me to get over to the weight machine instead of slumping on the couch. One thing the show does remind me of though, is the underdog.
That’s one of the things that I know most people can agree with. We love to see the underdog succeed. Whether it is Soccer mom schooling Helga; the giants defeating the patriots; the joes blowing away the pros; the geek getting the girl from the jock; Cinderella putting it to her stepsisters; or David killing Goliath.
We love the underdog.
The more I think about the underdog I realize that he has most of the world on his side. We encourage him to press on despite the difficulties. We make signs for him. We talk trash talk for him.
And as I worked with the free weights I realized that I am not much different than those I cheer for, except that I don’t motivate myself so well as I would motivate them. I don’t cheer myself on as much as I cheer for them.
Does that make sense? As much as we are to encourage one another to press on and push through, what do we do for ourselves?
Would God not want us to encourage and love ourselves as much as those around us? I think he would. So I’ve made a new resolution. I’ve decided that I want to motivate me to be the best I can be in whatever arena I find myself in. And by being confident and passionate in what I do I hope I can spur on those and encourage those around me.
If I’m to truly love my neighbor I need to love God and receive the love that he gives me...
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
A Square Peg...
I sometimes wonder about destiny.
Do I believe in it? Do I believe that I am predetermined to live a certain way?
If I do, that would explain why I am so confused sometimes. I could blame my inconsistency on my inability to find my particular niche, the way I am supposed to be.
But I don't believe that, and therein lies my problem.
If you think about it. If you think that life is supposed to follow some type of certain path. Then if I were to stray from said path I should have terrible things befall me like stress, pain, and confusion. Whereas if I am following the correct path everything should go as planned... right?
But destiny I don't think is a rigid thing. If so would we not be much like the rat in the maze? That we get the cheese if we go the right way and zapped back to the right way if we fall off course...
I don't want to be a rat.
So why is it that I feel much like a square peg trying to pound myself into a round hole? I try to figure out what I'm supposed to do and do that... yet I never succeed to pound myself into that round hole. So, I wonder... did I fall off track? Did I do something wrong? Shouldn't I know what to do next?
But I don't. I don't know what to do.
So this time, my square peg self is walking away from the round hole, and searching for my square hole. But I don't think it's what I thought it might have been. And I don't think it is necessarily what I think I "should do" out of obligation or proper direction.
It's something different.
It's something that's my own.
And I still don't know what it is....
Do I believe in it? Do I believe that I am predetermined to live a certain way?
If I do, that would explain why I am so confused sometimes. I could blame my inconsistency on my inability to find my particular niche, the way I am supposed to be.
But I don't believe that, and therein lies my problem.
If you think about it. If you think that life is supposed to follow some type of certain path. Then if I were to stray from said path I should have terrible things befall me like stress, pain, and confusion. Whereas if I am following the correct path everything should go as planned... right?
But destiny I don't think is a rigid thing. If so would we not be much like the rat in the maze? That we get the cheese if we go the right way and zapped back to the right way if we fall off course...
I don't want to be a rat.
So why is it that I feel much like a square peg trying to pound myself into a round hole? I try to figure out what I'm supposed to do and do that... yet I never succeed to pound myself into that round hole. So, I wonder... did I fall off track? Did I do something wrong? Shouldn't I know what to do next?
But I don't. I don't know what to do.
So this time, my square peg self is walking away from the round hole, and searching for my square hole. But I don't think it's what I thought it might have been. And I don't think it is necessarily what I think I "should do" out of obligation or proper direction.
It's something different.
It's something that's my own.
And I still don't know what it is....
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