Finally ready for Christmas

So I have been struggling to get into the Christmas spirit this year. I haven't wrapped any presents. I have only listened to my Christmas playlist approximately 2 times. I don't have any of my Christmas decorations set out yet, which actually isn't a big deal since I only have a fiber optic tree that's 3 feet tall, 2 sets of Russian nesting dolls, and a reindeer windsock.

And on our Wild, Organic Christmas Trees Tour, you can see the rare and delicate Teacup Fiber Optic Evergreen.

 Maybe it's living alone in a fairly new place, or maybe it's just because I'm older, but I just haven't been feeling Christmas-y. I have tried a little bit. I have helped cut down my family's Christmas tree and friend's Christmas tree. I driven around town once at night to look at lights. But typically by this time of year, I am feeling very festive. So last night's events were much needed to catapult me into some Christmas cheer. 

Last night some friends and I took a tour of historic homes. These homes were decorated in very traditional Christmas style, and were open for people to come inside and look around. And oh my goodness, they were beautiful homes. Some were nearly 200 years old, and were beautifully restored and preserved. And the Christmas decor was perfect. It was beautiful to just walk down street to the open houses on a night that was cold enough to let you see your breath, but not cold enough to make you feel like an icicle. And while we were walking down that street, I saw it. I saw what I have wanted to see pretty badly for a very long time. 

I saw a talking dog.

Just kidding.

I saw a shooting star.

And then I promptly freaked out and realized that it is now mid-December. And what happens during mid-December? The Geminid meteor shower, of course! And sure enough, when I confirmed with my phone that the meteor shower peaked  last night, I pretty much forced my friends to agree to stargaze with me after our Christmas tour. They were good sports about it, because who doesn't like to watch shooting stars?

So after we walked through the last historic home on the Christmas tour, we went back to my friend's house and watched a movie until it got late enough to really see the shower. And then we bundled up in coats and blankets, turned off all the lights, and went and sat outside. We were able to see the stars so clearly out where she lived, and we tried to pick out constellations while watching for shooting stars. I also learned that I don't really know anything about constellations. It got pretty cold, so we brought a space heater outside to warm our feet. Also, I just think that space heater is a fitting name for staring at the stars in space. 

We saw around 1 shooting star per minute, streaking across the sky like silver fish darting around in the water. The mountains could be barely seen in the background.

Notice all the constellations that I did not add.

And by the end of the night. I was in the Christmas spirit. It's a very distinctive feeling, being in the Christmas spirit. It's a very warm and comfortable feeling, even though I was sitting outside on a cold night and my toes were beginning to turn into foot icicles. It transcends our understanding, though we work hard to get a more accurate understanding of it. It goes beyond presents and decorations. It goes beyond lights and the houses around you, and the cities and the continents. 

It goes beyond all of that, all the way past space and beyond those shooting stars, and into heaven, where the Lord who created it all is at work. It goes all the way into time: past, present, and future. It goes all the way into that story that we know so well, where a star showed the path to the young Christ.

Travel Shaming.

It's the season of holidays, which means it's the season of travelling all over this great state. To Birmingham, to Tuscaloosa, to Auburn, to Wetumpka, and back to Huntsville after each trip. I hate driving, but because boys don't want anything to do with me and I will likely be alone forever, I have to drive on every one of these trips. I just wanna get married so someone else can drive. Is that so wrong?

This is supposed to be a depiction of Alabama, and the places within Alabama  to which I have been/will be travelling to within November and December. It's beautiful, I know.

But I must drive myself, and so I do. And all this driving around makes me think about some of the wonderful trips on which I have been. I like to see things I have never seen before. I like to learn about the things that have happened in those places, and the notable people who have been there. I enjoy experiencing the unique culture of each place. But even though I have been to many, many different places, I have fallen prey to what I like to call Travel Shaming. 

We have all experienced Travel Shaming. Either we have been the Travel Shamed or the Travel Shamers. I have visited approximately 13 states in the United States apart from my home state of Alabama (I am going to state the word state as many times as I can possible state the word state in this sentence). I have been to multiple cities in many of those states, and have visited or lived all over Alabama. I have not been out of the country, which is the biggest source of my travel shame. 

I have been to a variety of camps. I have visited other places for mission work. I have taken many wonderful vacations. I have seen a lot. I have really been blessed in my travels. Which is why travel shaming is so terrible.

I have been the travel shamed. When people post those things online showing where all they have traveled to within the United States, I am always travel shamed. Why? Because people who have only been to 13 states, all in the eastern half of the country, never post those. Only people who have been to at least half of the country post those. Now, I don't think it's because they are trying to rub it in my face, or anyone else's face. They're probably just eager to show that they have been blessed to be able to do and see a lot. 

The reasons people travel are broad, and sometimes complicated. Some have been able to travel for work (which is not always fun), and some have been blessed to travel just for fun. Sometimes, they go for mission work, temporary or long-term. Sometimes these mission trips are really just vacations disguised as mission trips (not the topic of today's post), and sometimes these mission trips are truly to perform real work for the Lord. Regardless of the many reasons people travel, they have been travelling far away and have consequently seen much, much more of the world than I have. 

I am very glad that these people get to travel, and have the means and opportunities to travel. I want people to be able to travel. Travelling can be really good. It is not that people get to travel that makes me feel travel shamed. It is the people who unconsciously brag. Many, but not all, people don't just talk about their adventures and what they saw, and post pictures for other people to enjoy. They don't just relate the details of their trip to people. It becomes travel shaming when they present themselves as better because they travel. They're always restless and never content until they can hop on an airplane again and zoom off to their next destination. It's not about their personal satisfaction at what they've experienced; it's about their personal satisfaction at making sure they are perceived as well-traveled. And that makes me feel travel shamed, because I have only been able to see 13 states all within one country. 

But then, I have also been the travel shamer, which is a sad thing to be once you realize you have been it. You see, many people within this country of plenty don't travel. At all. Travel is expensive. Even though this country is wealthy, and those here living in poverty can receive help more easily than those living in some of the poorest places in this world, that doesn't mean that they have much opportunity for luxury. And travel is a luxury that many, many people cannot afford, even people who are not living in poverty. Think of it this way: I might talk about a weekend trip to Alabama's beach, which I typically get to visit annually, and then find out that the other person in the conversation has never been to the beach. And that they actually haven't been out of town in years. Not because they like to stay close to home. But because gas is expensive, and hotels are expensive, and eating out is expensive, and paying to park your car in public parking is expensive. Leaving town is expensive.

And in that moment, I have travel shamed them. I have flaunted my ability to travel and what I have been able to do in this world as if it were no big thing. I might have "only" been to 13 states, but I have still travel shamed people. I might not can buy a plane ticket to Europe and spend 2 weeks there, but I have still travel shamed people. I might always be ready to forget that I have been blessed in my travels, and be ready to present myself as someone who longs to go to more and different places (and truly I would love to vacation or complete missions in many more places than I have been able to so far). But I hope that I can remember the difference between the blessing of travelling and travel shaming. 

Also, I never fully proofread these things, so sorry if some of the sentences don't make sense. 

Moon Mountain

I've been sick for the past few days. And it really was not very fun. I thought I was experiencing an allergic reaction on Monday, causing me to sneeze and feel congested. But by Monday evening, I figured I was sick. And sick I was. I ended up having to stay home from work on Tuesday and Wednesday with a fever, congestion, and all that fun stuff. And Thursdays are my off day, so I stayed home from work today and finished recovering.

That's supposed to be a tissue. Not just a blob or a booger.

And so for the past few days, I have become a nearly permanent fixture on my couch, watching hours, HOURS, of television shows and movies. I read a little, but that took more energy, so I would soon return to mindless staring at a show. I didn't do anything. I went a whole day without even looking outside. On the first night of being sick, I went to the drugstore and bought a thermometer, soup, children's cold medicine (yes, I still take children's cold medicine), and chocolate. The cashier wished me to feel well soon. I initially wanted to respond with something along the lines of, "how do you even know that this is for me?" But then I remembered that I looked like I was a sleepwalking monster-girl and that she had every reason to assume it was for me.

She also probably thought I was a moron because as I was looking for a basket in which to carry around my merchandise while shopping, I found a stack of them. The first few looked gross. There was a hairball in one. A hairball. So I took off the top few to find a cleaner one, and she walked up to me to make sure everything was alright. And I told her in the most awkward, congested way possible that there was a hairball in one and I had been looking for a clean one, and then pretty much just walked away from the area. I was sick, okay. I didn't care about acting like a functional human being. 

Anyway, I really appreciated her wishing me to feel well. We all get sick. I have been blessed enough to live a comparatively healthy life so far. That could change in an instant, I know. But so far, most of my illnesses have comprised of stuffy noses and fevers that clear after a few days. Headaches that go away. I remember throwing up in class in the 4th grade, right on the carpet, and you could see my breakfast in it. Super gross. And I'm sure my parents remember much more vomiting, runny noses, headaches, and fevers in their little girl as grew. But I see people every day who are younger and older than myself struggling with illness and despair, and I know that my little sickness was nothing compared to that. It does make me appreciate what I have, because I know health can change in a moment.

And today I have felt so much better. I have hardly been congested, have been able to breath through my nose, don't feel dizzy when I stand, and can talk without sounding like a scary villain dude in a movie. So tonight I finally felt well enough to rejoin the rest of the world, and I actually saw people. As I was driving, I saw that the moon was rising, and oh my goodness, I remembered how beautiful the world can be.

I have been so isolated in my little sick world, I truly forgot what it was like outside. What I mean is this: I knew what was outside, but I had forgotten what it was like. I had forgotten that it could be so lovely. God really is an artist.

As I was driving, the moon came into view straight ahead of me. It was still early in the night, and the sky was not fully darkened. The moon was enormous, and it was sitting on the top of the mountain in front of me. Just perched right on top of it. And I know that it was not the biggest moon that has ever been seen, and I know that the mountains here are not the biggest mountains in the world. But to see that big moon just resting on top was mesmerizing. 

I don't have a photograph to post. I was driving. That's just a bad idea.

Moon Mountain tonight (I just gave it that name, believe it or not)

I mean, it was really lovely. And that big moon gave off a lot of light. So much light that I didn't really get to see the meteor shower that is supposed to be going on tonight. But I didn't really look for any shooting stars, because I couldn't think about anything outside except that moon sitting on that mountain. It was saying, "welcome back to the world."

Recalling memories about something that doesn't even apply to me yet.

AHA! I have lured to this blog post, which you didn't know was going to be about weddings! I was spending some time thinking of memories I have of being a kid. And I came across one memory that just makes me laugh, which I will detail below. 

So I think that little kids sometimes just know what's important. I absolutely believe that children need guidance, good role models, teachers, and a fabulous support system. But somewhere deep down, kids just put things into serious perspective. For example: weddings.

I was a kid once. I was totally adorable. I grew up, which is unfortunate. But once upon a time, I was totally adorable. And back then, in my preschool days, I attended a fabulous daycare. I had a bunch of great friends with great imaginations, and we totally understood what life was all about. One of our favorite games to play on the playground was what I like to call "Hey, You Two, Get Married"

So we would all gather around the playground jungle gym, and two people would get married. 

Young Carolyn Kate on her wedding day.

The rest of us were just the guests, and it was quite an event. The playground was the type that had small, smooth pebbles on the ground as some sort of odd, rocky cushion for when a child fell down. Those pebbles were the perfect prop for us, the guests. Because we were spectators, we needed popcorn. And so we would use the bottoms of our shirts as bowls to carry little pebbles in, and would pretend to eat them as the ceremony was performed. After the ceremony was completed, we all celebrated by running around and playing games. 

Basically, back in those good old days, this was all that was needed to get married: two willing people, loved ones to rejoice for them, and a venue. Of course, those marriages were just pretend, and in no way valid or real. But the simplicity and fun of those weddings would be a great thing for our society. 

Now, I am not married. I want to get married, but to the right person. I'm not in a hurry to get married. I'm in my mid-twenties. To some people, that is old. To some people, that is young. To me, it doesn't matter how old I am because I am what I am and I am not what I am not. I'm not planning my future wedding, and I'm not obsessed with wedding things. 

But I do desire to get married one day and I do desire to have a nice wedding. I want a white dress, flowers, and bridesmaids. I want a cake and lovely ceremony. But these days, where weddings on average cost tens of thousands of dollars in the United States, and the ceremony and reception have become about entertaining other people rather than about the commitment between a man and woman and God, those of us who have yet to get married could learn a little bit from those kids on the playground. I have had some friends get married or who are getting married who I do believe have their priorities in a good order, and they have made me really respect them because of that. 

First: two willing people.

How to motivate men to take up running as a form of exercise.

This part, in general, is pretty well adhered to in the United States in a general sense. It is a general rule that people who get married are willing to get married. But I want to take the point even further than that, to the point where the bride and groom are two people who are willing to abide by the vows they made before God. I understand that there are things which happen in life that make this difficult or even impossible, and I have no judgmental thoughts toward those situations. However, it seems as though many people get married without understanding what a vow is, or what the vows they are making mean. As someone who desires a marriage that honors God one day, it makes me sad and even scared to see how lightly marriage is taken by many people. 

Second: loved ones to rejoice for them. Why do weddings always seem to be about impressing those people who aren't entering into a covenant that day? Now, don't get me wrong. I love beautiful ceremonies and exciting receptions as much as anyone else. However, when I watch these wedding shows or see girls I know become stressed about what such and such looks like, or by such and such entertainment for the guests, then it makes me stressed. Why is it such a big deal? Why is it so expensive? Are the guests also getting married that day? No, they are probably not. So the wedding is not about the guests. However, the guests that are there should be people who rejoice for the couple, whether they are actually bored or not. It's a group of witnesses, who love them and encourage them (who also have given them presents, probably). And it is good for them to be entertained (like I said above, we always had popcorn at the playground), but it is not the point of the day.

Third: a venue. So venues have become a big and expensive deal for weddings. Having a beautiful venue for a wedding is understandably important. And because of that, venues are in demand and expensive. And if a person can afford those venues, then I think that is wonderful and I will enjoy their marriage in those venues. However, I know many people cannot afford those venues, and who might feel shamed for their plain wedding, or go into debt to have a more extravagant event. That has got to stop. It's senseless. People who get married are just as married as every other married person, whether their wedding was in a backyard or in a grand ballroom. In fact, God made the most beautiful (and the most affordable) venue in the universe: the great outdoors. You don't even have to decorate it; it is already grand. 

Now, I know I am not married and I might not have a perfect understanding of the wedding process. I hope to one day have a perfect understanding of it as I do hope to get married in the future. And as I said before, I do want a nice wedding. I want it to be fun and I want it to have those very wedding-y qualities. 

However, my grandmother and granddaddy were married many years ago at her family's home. They didn't have much money and couldn't afford anything else. They loved each other and they loved the Lord, and they wanted to get married. But instead of staying apart and saving their hard-earned money for a long time, only to spend their savings on a fancy event to entertain other people, they just got married, She didn't even have a fancy white dress. It didn't make them any less married. And pretty much a million years later, they were married until death parted them. 

A million years, people. Not because they had a wedding. But because they had a marriage.

It's midnight again...

It was close to midnight here, so I decided it was the perfect time to update this blog. That's just the way I am. Of course, I should probably be different since I have work in the morning, but tell that to my brain. Or don't. I can tell you right now that my brain isn't going to listen.

I'm pretty wide awake because I was panicking earlier that I probably ruined my life forever and ever because I spilled water on the laminate floor in the laundry room of my apartment and didn't discover it for about 30 minutes. That is one convoluted sentence. But anyway, I found the water and dried it up, but noticed that the laminate was bubbling. So I did what any normal person would do: assume I had ruined the entire building and called emergency maintenance in case they wanted to come out at 10 pm and save the world. Once I explained the situation (that there was no leak and it was merely water I had spilled) they were pretty much like, "lady, go to sleep."

Except now going to bed is impossible. I am up. I am awake. I had nearly fallen off the edge of the earth and barely escaped. I am not exaggerating at all.

But anyway, that is just exactly why I decided to update y'all on my life. I use y'all exactly as it is intended to be used: you all. Because it always makes me happy to look at the blog's statistics and see that people from all over the world have looked at this. Places I've never been to but would love to visit. Of course, most of the blog's visitors probably accidentally clicked on the link from a search for something else, but I still totally love that. So thanks, y'all.

I have been living in this new city for nearly two months, and it is the most beautiful place I have ever lived. Now, I have only lived in 5 cities, and all are in Alabama. However, Alabama is a very diverse state, which has everything from a coast to mountains. And the latter is precisely my new location.

I have never lived in the mountains. My hometown is fairly hilly, but there aren't mountains there. It's a crater, which is totally cool and nerdy. But now I live in the mountains. There are people who would scoff at Alabama's mountains. They're not as big or grand as some mountains. But they're still mountains. I can tell you that when I drive in the valley to work in the mornings and can see walls of tree-filled earth rising up in front of me, shrouded by mist and early sunlight, it is a big and grand sight. That when I am walking to my car from a restaurant and can look in every direction and see a mountain, it is a big and grand sight. That when I can stand at the top of a mountain and see the tops of houses and valleys full of trees, it is a big and grand sight.

And it is a big and grand idea that God had to create so many beautiful things. I cannot comprehend how many beautiful things there are in this world. I can name some generic things: there are mountains, rivers, oceans, and forests all throughout this world. But the Appalachian mountains are different from the Himalayan mountains. And the Coosa River is different from the Colorado River. And the Atlantic Ocean is different from the Pacific Ocean. And the Redwood forests are different from the Amazon rainforest.

How absolutely amazing an idea. How absolutely artistic and beautiful. And, well, creative. Is not the diversity of this world a testament to God's power, skill, and creativity? It amazes me that every single thing differs on so minute a level that we cannot see it with our naked eyes, but also manifests itself in ways that are so big that we cannot see it all at once. And even with all those differences, everything blends together to function as one world.

How beautiful.

P.S. - My old computer finally decided that after 6 years, it really and truly was not able to function. I have a new computer, so now I don't have to copy and paste "m" while typing. I have never appreciated keyboards so much until now.
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That is great.

Oh no, not another one! And this one is a little all over the place.

So anyways, the last blog from like three months ago was all about stargazing, which was excellent foreshadowing to the next adventure in my life. I was so smart that I didn't even know that I was foreshadowing it (uh, or something like that). But yeah, a lot of stuff has happened between then and now.

On a side note, the "m" key on my computer quit working at some point this summer, so each "m" you carelessly read in this post was painstakingly pasted in with great care and frustration. 

But back to the topic at hand: what I've been up to. Which really doesn't matter all that much, except I feel the need to explain everything that has gone on during my absence (though this really is a stupid blog that is sporadically, at best, updated).

It's been an eventful summer. Early in my last semester of graduate school, I started applying for jobs. I graduated, and moved home to become a full-time job-seeker. Applications were sent out to a minimum of a billion jobs in a billion states, and some of those actually called back for an interview. But every single one of those seemed to be fated in the favor of other candidates. Former interns, internal transfers, and going against huge numbers of other interviewers... for months, I always seemed to have enough fortune to nearly get hired, but to always have something intervene. Which is fine, and is probably similar to the fortune of most other new grads. It just gets discouraging after a while, to feel like you worked so hard in graduate school only to never get hired. 

But then my family went on vacation to Savannah, Georgia in late June. That vacation really marked a change in the trajectory of my summer. Savannah is a beautiful, beautiful place. Driving in that city is terrible, but walking there is wonderful. We got to eat in an old pirate-y tavern, and go into Flannery O'Connor's childhood house. It was great. But on our way back home, we got terrible news. 

Christine, my beautiful grandmother who I love, was very sick. She had been sick for years, but this was even worse. So of course we rushed home, to the see the truth for ourselves and to do what we could. It's impossible in this silly post to honor her to the extent that she deserves to be honored, so I won't write much now on the time that we spent with her in her suffering. 

But from that point forward, things seemed to happen at a rate that had seemed impossible only a few weeks earlier. I interviewed for five jobs in a matter of about seven days. And then, in the span of another week, I got two job offers, both good opportunities with good companies. I accepted one of them. But even then, my happiness was bittersweet, because I did not want to leave my family and Grandmother when I did not know what was going to happen.

It became evident soon, though, what would happen. We knew that very soon, Grandmother was going to be freed from her tired and sick earthly body, and would be able to worship the Lord in new and great ways with that freedom that brought her joy and peace, but brought us grief. She had been placed on hospice, and it was only a matter of time. I was blessed to be able to schedule with my new employer to have a start date that would allow me to stay with and help care for Grandmother during that last little while. 

During that time, I was telling a close friend, a sister in Christ, about how frustrating the summer had been, with searching so hard for a job only to have to leave for one soon after the passing of someone I dearly loved. And then she mentioned that perhaps the Lord had not opened the door until that specific time so that I could be with Grandmother and my family. 

And there it was. It was true. God closed and opened doors. It's such a clear idea, that I feel foolish even now for not realizing it. I took it as coincidence. Perhaps there was coincidence involved, but how much coincidence is there truly in this world? How often do we comfort ourselves with the idea that God opens and closes doors at the right time and according to His will, but we neglect to give Him glory when He actually does open and close doors? How could I be so silly to have thought it was a coincidence, to have been running down a hallway of nothing but locked doors to good jobs, only to find unlocked doors to good jobs on the other side of the events of this summer? 

And finally reaching those unlocked doors, after such a summer, are what led me back to stargazing. Since then, I have moved to Huntsville, arguably one of the most stargazing-est cities in the country. I started my new job today, and I think it will be great. I think God opened the door for this job specifically. I have felt uncomfortable leaving home and moving to a new city after my family heartbreak, couldn't sleep last night, broke my sunglasses this morning, sat through an all-day orientation, and then someone hit my car on the way home from work (I'm okay, and my car mostly is). But when I think about it, I still feel good. Because God works things together for good for those who love Him, and are called according to His purpose. And I know I have been called to His purpose. God has something for me to do, and He is going to reveal it.

Also, I really don't stargaze much at all. But I'm probably in a great place to see that meteor shower now.

Stargazing (but not very well)

So meteor showers are truly awesome. I dare you to argue with that. They're spectacular, and seem dangerous and beautiful at the same time. Dangerous because it's orbiting material hurtling at a terrifying speed, lighting up the sky in its burning wake. Anyone else remember February 15, 2013?

But they're also beautiful. The stars in the great expanse of space that we can see on any given night are absolutely stunning. Though stars look like glistening specks in the sky, stargazing can really make you feel like just a little speck, but in a lovely way. They make you feel like a speck that has been given the privilege to witness the glory of the Lord and the power He expresses in His creation. A speck that can live in and see and experience what billions of other specks have lived in and seen and experienced. A speck that can look up at those stars and know that we have mastered the ability to travel in space, but the Master of the universe has power beyond that, which we cannot achieve.

And then on top of all of that, we get to see that already magnificent night scene perform a cosmic ballet, or jazz routine, or interpretive dance, or whatever you fancy. During these meteor showers, we become mere spectators of a galactic migration.

Let's see how many space words I can use in this post.

So I grew up seeing the occasional shooting star, as everyone does. But I remember the first real meteor shower that I watched. It was when I was in high school, and I was out in the country at a bonfire that my friend was having for his birthday one December. There weren't many of us there, just some of his close pals. And then we noticed that there were shooting stars flying through the sky overhead. It was like magic; we were all mesmerized. All of a sudden our bonfire was forgotten, and we all were just standing there, our heads tilted back, mouths open, only talking to exclaim, "I just saw another one!"

This is essentially the most nerdy and the most awesome I've ever felt at a birthday party.

The next experience I had with a meteor shower was in college. I had caught the meteor shower fever at that completely awesome birthday party, and I wasn't going to rest until I could see another meteor shower. Okay, that's not true; I rested like every single night. But that's neither here nor there, really. 

So one year in college, I stumbled across information telling when the next meteor shower would be. A group of girls that I lived with loaded up in the car and were on a mission: to find somewhere in town that was not lit up bright and that was simultaneously not scary. No easy feat when you're a complete scaredy cat. Also, the sky was just like really bright. So we ended up seeing about one meteor, which was a bummer. But I did get to spend time with some precious friends on a totally awesome adventure. They write about that kind of stuff in sappy novels that get turned into movie adaptations, you know. 

Our view of the lone meteor we saw from the parking lot in which we finally stopped to stargaze.

And over the years, I have been a very poor stargazer. I have either not been aware when a meteor shower has taken place, or it has been too cloudy or bright outside to view the meteor shower when I have actually tried to view a meteor shower. I don't know tons of crazy facts about meteors, and I don't have fancy stargazing equipment. I'm actually probably the worst meteor shower semi-enthusiast to ever exist. 

But recently I have been kind of longing to see another meteor shower. I few times this past year I would look up when the next one would be, but still haven't managed to make one. And then my desire to see another one was confirmed when one night in Tuscaloosa, when I was driving back to my apartment, a bright flash of light zoomed through the sky. It was so quick, but so bright , that I can only assume it was a meteor. That, or aliens. Probably aliens. No? Okay, whatever.

So when I heard that there was going to be a meteor shower on this night, the night spanning between May 23 and May 24, I knew that I had to try and see it. So I stood outside in the driveway of my family's home in the country tonight, straining my eyes for the tiniest flash of a star streaking across the sky. Nothing. It was still too early. My dad came outside for a bit, and looked with me, before going back inside (and kindly making sure the carport light was turned off for me to stargaze with more precision). It was just me and my dog, whose black fur blended into that darkness that the woods radiates at night, and probably some bugs and some bats (but I don't want to think about that part). And I just stood there, with my sweet dog stretched out at my feet while I looked up at the Alabama sky for way too long, even though it was still too early to actually see any meteors.

But let's be serious, a girl can only do that for so long. After a while of that, and seeing nothing but a very, very faint streak of light at one point (which was probably not a real meteor and was probably just the product of my wish to see a meteor), I went inside to prepare for bed. I took a shower and brushed my teeth, took out my contacts, and crawled into bed. I pulled out my laptop and looked up more information about the times that the meteor shower was supposed to peak, and what areas are the best areas for viewing the meteor shower. I started to write on this blog. And then at 1:04 am, I went to the window and opened the blinds, and tried really, really hard to see a shooting star.

I didn't see one. It was still a little early for it. But hey, a girl has got to sleep.

Spiders

Alright, I have had some truly terrifying spider adventures in my current apartment. My apartment complex is wonderful, and I have loved living here for the couple of years I have had a lease. Well, except for the fact that giant monster spiders sometimes find their way into my apartment.

My apartment is not nasty. I keep it clean and pretty well maintained. The apartment complex is a little older, but is nice and has received excellent maintenance. In fact, there is supposedly even a wait list for people to get into this apartment complex. So I'm not really sure where the spiders come from, but every couple of months I will find a giant wolf spider just casually sharing my living space, that are like the size of my palm. I can't figure out if it is because my apartment complex is near the woods and river, or through what space they are entering my apartment. It also does not happen too terribly often. However, it is still a terrible problem to have.

A semi-accurate depiction of the size of a regular spider as compared to the size of the spiders found in my apartment.

I really do not find them often, but when I do find one I panic. I truly don't handle it well. But throughout my experiences, I have learned how to be totally courageous. Brave. Valiant. 

One of the worst experiences I have had with one of these creatures happened late one night. I had arrived home after hanging out with some friends, and in the dim light I had turned on when entering my apartment, I could see a spot on the carpet in my hallway. I went to investigate, and discovered that it was in fact a giant spider. Probably the size of my palm. But no, not just a regular giant spider. A mommy giant wolf spider. 

That's right. She was covered in her own live young. Which meant I couldn't step on her, since then the millions and billions of baby spiders clinging to her body would spread out across my carpet like a tiny sea of terror. I decided to trap her under a bowl, slide a folder under it, and then throw the whole thing outside. Except that when I approached her to trap her, her mommy senses took note of the impending danger, and she tried to escape.

That's right. She was moving. Now the only thing more terrifying than a giant spider that is running is a giant spider that is hopping. And the only thing more terrifying than a hopping giant spider is a giant spider who spills piles of baby spiders on your carpet with each hop it makes.

That's right. Now I have baby spiders all over my hallway carpet, despite my brilliant plan. I slam the bowl on top of mommy spider and commence to handling the new situation. I squish every baby I see moving, which was like a billion of them. And then I pull out the vacuum, and vacuum my apartment for about 45 minutes. After the carpet was as clean as it was on the day in which it was installed, I devised my plan for mommy spider, who somehow still had tons of babies still on her. I couldn't stomp on her, because not only was she a clearly one tough mom, but I also felt guilty about  what happened to all her spider babies. So my plan mostly consisted of taking the plastic bowl in which she was trapped outside to a tree that was not next to my apartment, and throwing the whole bowl against the tree, so that I did not have to be anywhere near her when she was released.

I didn't litter. I ended up picking up the bowl. But I did throw it in the dumpster. I didn't particularly want to use it again. I also called my dad as it was all happening to make sure that I was going to be okay. That's part of a daddy's job. But I mostly think he thought it was hilarious.

My second most terrifying experience happened much more recently. I saw a giant wolf spider in my entry hallway, and quickly stepped on it before he could escape, and I thought it was dead. When I came back a few minutes later to clean it up, its body was gone. I was confused, of course, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. It just wasn't there anymore. 

So I just continued to exist, doing whatever work I had been doing or watching some tv, probably. And then I decided to take a shower and get ready for bed. After I had gotten clean, I hopped out of the shower and what was right there, blocking my exit from the bathroom, but a giant wolf spider. And there I was, trapped in the bathroom, shoe-less, and very nervous. 

See, I was only able to draw two conclusions from my situation: either there were multiple giant wolf spiders in my apartment, or the spider was intelligent enough to pretend to be dead in order to escape and hunt me down later. Both thoughts are really quite terrifying.

The view between me and my hallway. Also, my bathroom is really not that ugly.

So I pretty much dealt with the situation like a superhero, by hurdling over the spider and racing to get a shoe, and then swiftly bringing to an end the potential danger imposed upon me by that spider. 

Really, I feel really bad whenever I have to stomp on one of those spiders. My guilty conscience roars to life, and I wonder if they had little spider families or spider career plans. And I know that spiders like wolf spiders are not bad spiders, and that they are important to have in our ecosystem. But ultimately, I just can't share my living space with a big, hairy spider. I feel like most of you understand. 

Y'all. My old diaries.

Ever go back and read your old diaries, and think, "wow, I was dumb." Because I have, on more than one occasion. Formerly, I was pretty good at keeping a diary. By formerly, I mean that when I was in my young to mid-teenage years. And by pretty good, I mean that I filled up a few journals over the period of a few years. 

I kept a diary when I was a young gal, but only would write in it occasionally, and usually it looked something like this: 

But then, when I was in junior high school, I read Anne Frank's diary. And of course, the magnitude of her situation and the greatness of her diary impacted me. I was in awe of Anne Frank. I knew her story, and I knew her family and those living with her, and I knew the people that were taking care of her. I knew that I loved Anne Frank and her family. She made me to know and love them because of her diary, that monument to history. To this day, I love Anne Frank and her family.

So she inspired me to write a diary. I was not Anne Frank. I could not be Anne Frank; I had not endured suffering such as she endured. But that did not stop me from unleashing my thirteen year old heart onto the pages of those diaries with the clasps that didn't lock and the gaudy covers. And I continued to write for a little while. 

There was a cycle that occurred with my diaries. I would write consistently for a period, and then I would quit. And then I would pick it back up again. However, also in that cycle, I would inevitably go back after a long period of time and re-read my old journals. And I would always think, "ugh, me, what were you thinking? That's so silly and dumb. I need to get rid of these before anyone else ever sees them and sees how dumb I am."

And I would throw them away.

This is a portrayal of 15 year old Carolyn throwing away a diary that she wrote in when she was younger because she cared too much what all the people who would never read her diary would think if they did actually read it. I really needed to learn a thing or two about personal style when I was 15.

I did that multiple times, all because I either was annoyed at myself for what I had written in the past, or I was embarrassed by how silly I had seemed. I would think that my diary entries had been silly and dramatic, or boring and pointless. And I did not see the value in them, and I never wanted anyone else to read them. So I would just throw them into the trash.

Now that I am older, I really wish I could judge the quality of those diary entries with fresh eyes. I have changed so much, and it would be so interesting to go back and read them. Not that I was particularly interesting (I really was not). But it would just be interesting to go back and review my life as I viewed it then, and see how I have changed (or stayed the same, oh my). 

I find myself doing the same kind of thing with my blog. Fairly recently, I went through and deleted some old posts I had written because I didn't like them anymore. I had to stop myself from deleting a lot (like all) of my old posts, and tell myself that it's okay that it's a silly post without much purpose. Who knows, though. Maybe soon you'll come to my blog and all my old posts will be deleted. Gone. Poof. Deleted.

Now this blog is not a diary. It's about my thoughts and experiences, sure. I might dance around some life issues that I am experiencing, or write about my thoughts, or announce great news (such as that my thesis committee approved my thesis today at my defense!), but that's about it. I only write about it on here if it is something I think is good to share with the general public, especially since most of the general public that reads this already knows me. No one is going to read about the details and problems in my personal life, etc. Those kinds of things are fit for an actual diary, and not for this particular blog. And hey, y'all with the crazy statuses and updates, not fit for social media, either. 

Because my sister and I are friends 4ever

The above is the text message conversation I had with my dear younger sister the other day. I'm true to my word. Also, she is clearly in college since she texted me at midnight. And I'm clearly in grad school because I was still awake.

My sister was born when I was approximately four and a half years old. I really wanted to her to be named Mary, and begged my parents for that. The reason: I thought you had to be named Mary to get married. I apparently didn't know how to spell yet; in my mind they were the same word. Also, I was looking out for you, sister. I knew that since I was named Carolyn Kate, I was going to be single forever and ever, and it would be against the law for me to get married. But I wanted you to at least have that choice. It never crossed my precious four year old brain that my mom was not named Mary, but she was married. Whatever.

But anyway, having a younger sibling was life-changing. We were always really different. We never even looked alike. When we were little, I was blonde, with straight hair, and had blue eyes. She had dark and curly hair, hazel eyes, and was covered in freckles.

 

My sister is WAY more adorable than this picture. She has freckles, not chicken pox. And her hair does not look weird. And she's cute as a button. And totally beautiful. And just way more lovely than this. I'm not an artist. 

My strengths were often her weaknesses, and her strengths were often my weaknesses. For example, she has always been extremely crafty and creative. Me, on the other hand... well, y'all are witnesses to my artistic capabilities. She's on another level.

But the point is, we had different personalities growing up. It often led to us bickering and quarreling, competing with each other.  We did love each other, very much. Even though we were extremely competitive with each other, we were a team. For instance, I didn't like broccoli, but my sister did. It really tastes okay, but what kind of kid likes broccoli? So we would wait until our parents weren't looking, and then she would take half the broccoli off of my plate and give me something else from her plate. Keeping it cool, just like sisters should. Also, I would like to ask for forgiveness for making my parents believe that I really did eat all that broccoli.

But the age difference was difficult at times. We never really shared a stage in life until she hit the later years of high school, and got past those horrible, angsty, awful early and mid-teenage years that we all have to experience before becoming regular human beings. But after that, we experienced something great.

We already loved each other. We were sisters. But then age truly cemented our friendship. We began to tell each other our secrets. She held my hand and gave me the sweetest of encouragements when I had a broken heart. I sat up with her at night and gave her advice about college. She confided in me about friendships and boys. I confided in her about my hopes. We grew closer together. Even our hair sensed the change, and now we have almost the same color of hair.

She is an amazing person, and I love her so much. I just want everyone to know what a lovely sister I have, and how thankful I am to have her.

Also, we have conversations like this.

I was thinking about this instead of the sermon on Sunday.

It was the most beautiful room anyone could ever be in, and there wasn't ever a person who didn't like that room. And there wasn't ever a person who could find that room until it was time for them to find that room. One day, they're just in the room.  Not everyone gets into that room. Oh no, not even a lot of people who do try to look for it. But of the people who get into that room, they all love it. It doesn't matter if they are architectural enthusiasts or design snobs; the room is perfect for each of them (funny enough, it's also the same for each of them).

So they're coming and going out of this room (a lot of them, but not as many as there could be), and at some point they all go over to this long table full of books. Every book is the same: The Book of Life. And each person gets to sit down and find their name in it. It's seriously better than anything you've ever done. They get to look it up (because anyone who gets to sit down and look through it like that has their name in it), and they get to read everything that's listed under it. 

On that list is a bunch of really good stuff. The kind of stuff that if you read it here, you'd get vain and proud. Folks wouldn't like you much anymore, and you'd just turn into a really yucky person. You'd try to do that same stuff more and more, just so that maybe you could read more good thing about yourself. But it wouldn't even be good stuff to do anymore, because you're only doing it for a pretty yucky you.  

But when they read that good stuff in that room, they don't even think about themselves. They just think about how happy they were to be able to do it. They didn't even know that that one thing they said to that one person would show up in this book. It just did, and wow! See how it helped that person! And they didn't know that they were ever going to read about spending time with that one person that one day. But hey, that one person was so blessed by it! And look at that: every single dollar, and food item, and pair of shoes that they ever gave in the name of the Lord shows up, along with its journey to help the helpless. Just think about where that pair of shoes walked. And it's delightful.

Eventually, they get done reading about themselves. They can only think about themselves for so long when they're there. But they're not done with that book. They get to look up other people! Grandparents, Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, teachers, students, co-workers, and really just whoever else they want to look up. They get to read about them, too! 

Perhaps if you were to read really good stuff about yourself and then read really good stuff about other people you know, you might enjoy reading about yourself a little more. But not them. They're just as happy to read about the other people and everything they did that was glorious. Maybe even happier, because that means that they've been there. 

You see, they can only read the names of people who have been in that room. They'll look up some people, and find their name. And they get excited when they find their names. They get to read all about them, and be so delighted. They'll look up some people, though, and not find their name. Those folks aren't in The Book of Life. It's pretty sad, because those folks did some pretty good stuff and it would have been lovely to read about it. They can't feel too bad about it, though, because the next moment they'll find the next name they were looking for and get to celebrate over all that person's really good stuff.

Texting is ruining our lives

Now I know that the title of this post is a bit dramatic. Also, let it be known that I do text. But I think that texting has gotten a bit out of hand. (On a side note, this website doesn't recognize "texting" as a legitimate word when I type it. Get with the times.)

What I mean by this claim is that I have become increasingly frustrated with text messaging and the way it impacts my relationships with other people. It is a terrible way to try to manage existing friendships. It is a terrible way to get to know people.  It makes cowards out of people. It makes people lazy.

Now, I shall start with the defense of text messaging, so that y'all can understand my argument a little better. I text message people all the time. It is super convenient. For example, I might be in a conference where making a phone call to talk casually with my friend would be extremely rude and inappropriate. However, at the same conference, sending a text message to communicate casually with my friend would only be a little rude and inappropriate. I text people daily, and I like for them to text me, though I am sometimes (frequently) bad at responding in a timely manner (I don't mean to forget). There are many, many reasons to text someone. I might be touching base with someone about plans later that afternoon. I might be letting someone know I am thinking about them. Or asking them a casual question. Or coordinating a meeting between multiple friends. I might be texting them about a tv show we are watching simultaneously from different cities. Or just enjoying some talk about our day. And the list goes on and on, but it does not go on to actually form or maintain those close relationships.

That's says, "what is up?" because that's the number one way to start a casual conversation on an old cell phone.

But aspects of communicating solely by text have started to irk me. I find that I have not kept well-maintained friendships with many people, despite texting them. I don't really know about their lives, and they don't really know about mine. I get lazy about responding, and so do other people. I don't know what to pray for them. I don't know what is currently making them happy or sad, and I don't know how their work and their social lives are. And they don't know these things about me. Though I love these friends, I literally cannot show it over a text message. The friends who I have maintained a strong relationship with are the ones who I actually talk to, via phone call, on occasion. It doesn't even have to be that frequently. Once every few months will suffice in some cases. Yet, text messaging has replaced even that with many friendships. Unfortunately, I am only accusing myself of this. To those friends of mine, I am very sorry.

And there is the formation of new relationships. You cannot really get to really know real people through text messages. I repeat, you CANNOT get to know people through text messages. I don't care if you try to text me all day long - you are only seeing a fraction of me. I am only seeing a fraction of you. And you're only seeing a fraction of anyone else you try to text. I don't think that this is as huge of a problem when it comes to making new friends, because you're probably not trying to learn all about your new friends over text messaging. You're probably just hanging out and eating a lot of pizza and ice cream, talking and getting to know your friend. I feel like dating is the major area in which the problem of text messaging is used as a means of forming new relationships.

OH NO SHE DIDN'T.

Oh yes she did. 

Also, sorry that this is so scary looking but I took the few minutes to do it so it's going in this post.

But it's true. And okay, maybe it is excused in people who are not looking for commitment. Dating is scary, thoughts of marriage are probably for the distant future, and texting is a means of trying to become acquainted with someone that allows for avoidance of commitment if necessary. However, each person eventually outgrows that phase in life. Men begin to want to be treated like men. Women begin to want to be treated like women. That means pursuing, and being bold, and showing leadership. That means having proper standards and a personality that is worth the work. And I'm just going to say it: texting is not romantic. It is my opinion that rare is the man who feels well respected by text messages, and rare is the woman who feels very cherished by text messages. Some flirtation, some conversation, nice goodnight or good morning texts are always great. There is nothing wrong at all with texting the person you are pursuing or who is pursuing you! But text messaging as a replacement for talking is a mistake. Somewhere along the way, I think a lot of men and women in the dating realm have started to think that talking on the phone means having a boring conversation, or getting in an argument. But I think it's different. Phone calls are nice. Talking in person is better.

Now, I am not condemning text messaging. I think it has some good uses, and I definitely text message. I just think that those of us who are adults need to look at our friendships and other relationships, and see if we are satisfied at the depth of them. Is the text message, where meaning and feeling are difficult to portray and ascertain, the appropriate medium to maintain and develop those relationships? The answer might absolutely be YES in some cases. But the answer is all too often no.

Of course this is about the weather

I've realized that I am completely helpless when it is cold. It's painful. I don't know what to do. I don't have an ice scraper for my car. I don't remember to leave faucets dripping when it gets below freezing. I don't remember to go start my car ahead of time to let it warm up before leaving in the mornings. I'm mostly sure that I'm not a polar bear.

This has to be a product of being reared in Alabama. I just don't see how people do it up yonder in the Northern states. When the high temperature of the day is below freezing, I can barely face the outside. When I was driving earlier today, with the heat in my car cranked all the way up, I started to think about arctic explorers. How do they handle it? Especially back in ye olden days. I feel like if they even took a hand out of its glove for a second, it would immediately freeze solid and fall off and break into a million pieces. The reason I think this is because I'm pretty sure it almost happened to me, in Alabama, during the recent reign of ice.

And the worst part of it is that there is not any snow to be found. Oh sure, maybe that's why some people up yonder in the Northern states like the cold: because it often yields snow. But the only things we got with the cold was more cold, along with a side of a cold, and then a final serving of cold. You didn't look out your window to see a winter wonderland. You just saw dead grass, and trees without leaves, and probably a bird frozen in the birdbath. You know, the typical winter loveliness.

It's a Christmas room with a traditional Alabama Christmas view.

It has been so cold recently that when the high reached 46 degrees today, I almost put on my bathing suit and ran to the pool. It felt like summertime when compared to the high the day before. And that just makes me miss the real summertime. I'm ready for the warmer weather. For the butterflies and flowers. For the sun to still be up at 5:00 in the afternoon. For the lake and the beach. For sipping sweet iced tea on the patio. For watching fireworks on the Fourth of July down by the river. And sure enough, warmer weather will creep (or not creep, likely) back and cover this place. 

Although, in defense of this cold weather, I haven't been bitten by a mosquito lately.