Last night, I was sitting around our dining room table, playing a lively game with Seth, Scott, and Karis. Next to our game board, resided a bowl of frozen strawberries. As we sat taking our turns, munching on our frosty red delicacies, I was suddenly possessed with a brilliant game to play, called "Lets See Who Can Stick Their Front Teeth Directly Into a Strawberry and Hold Them There The Longest."

Karis was my willing contestant. We picked out large, contest-worthy  strawberries, and bit off the tip, careful not to affect our front teeth...yet. It took several minutes before we could find the courage to commit ourselves to such a cruel torture, but on the count of three, we sunk our front teeth into the frozen strawberry. What resulted was total chaos, as we jumped up, kicking and screaming from our chairs, with the background roars of laughter from the masculine peanut-gallery. The freezing shock that went shooting through our nervous system sent us into convulsions that lasted for several seconds, altho at the time it felt close to hours. As the shock wore off, we quickly tried to regain our dignified composure, shuddering as we thought of the gruesome deed we had so willingly put ourselves through.

All in all, our suffering was in vain, as we were unable to tell who had out-lasted the other. But we didn't care, as the competitiveness with which we had begun our challenge, had subsided into the sympathising bond of those who have withstood all together.

When Katheryn was probably about 14, she somehow got onto some mailing list of associations that would send her those cheap address labels in the mail, in hopes that she would take pity on their worthy and benefactoral cause, and give a donation to help save all the trees and mosquitoes that are dying out. Time after time, she'd get one of those fat envelopes filled with address labels, stickers, etc. But did I ever get any? Nope. They remains sadly deprived and oblivious to my humble presence. Life just wasn't fair! Here I was, pining away for those coveted stickers, but helpless to do anything about it! Ah, what a tragedy!

But it has happened. After all these many long years of deprivity, they have finally become aware of my existence, and have generously, oh so generously, begun to shower their many blessings upon my head. Ah, now life is surely complete. < contented sigh >

Now....what do I do with these hideous things??

A moment ago I was keenly inspired to wield my guitar and sing a soliloquy to this illustrious evening. But then the death bell tolled, as I remembered that my guitar is minus a very necessary appendage-- a bass string, cruelly rent in twain by the vicious, altho inspired, strokes of another's hand. So, what is there left for my deprived soul to do, but to sorrowfully fall upon my knees, a heart too full for utterance...and weed the flower-bed!

"Won-ton soup! Won-ton soup! Won-ton soup!"

Deep beats of the tribal drum reverberated throughout the natives’ camp. The uncoordinated dance continued, as the three natives acted out their deadly dance around the camp’s clearing. With a shriek, they threw their arms in the air, wailing and jerking their bodies in their vigor for the approaching war. At last, with the continued drum beats spurring them on, the three aboriginal characters stopped their movements, only, with a warbling war cry, to charge towards their unsuspecting (or maybe not so unsuspecting) prey sitting along the camp’s edges. A vicious battle ensued. As the onslaught drew to a close, they resumed their deadly prance around the roaring fire, picking up the chant:

This dramatic retelling  has been brought to you courtesy of the above mentioned natives' teacher. If anyone ever dared to think that my three students don't have vivid imaginations, they are quite wrong!  Certainly, their choice of war chant was exceedingly unique, I really can't say what inspired them to "won-ton soup," but it just proves their boundless imagination! I definitely get a good laugh out of them, altho on occasion I do feel like pulling my hair when my store of new ideas for corralling their active spirits come to an end! 

Wow. I really don't know what to say after getting that invitation in the mail. An invitation to the wedding of one of my really good friends. She and I lost touch about a year ago, but obviously she's been busy in that time!

That's freaky when your friends around you -- not your friend's older brother or sister-- but your very own friends your age start actually getting married!  What do I say? Wow.

When you think of having a day off of work, the first thing that normally comes into ones mind is "woohoo, vegging day!" Or at least, that's what I too often find myself thinking. But how I have spent this morning, compared with my other mornings off from work, has got me to thinking.

I have spent the last hour or so on a housecleaning campaign with Mom. We tore our living room apart and then, with much enjoyment, we put it all back together. And what was the result? Not only a clean room, but a satisfaction in what we had accomplished, and a pure pleasure in looking at the work of our hands. And also, just the fun time of going at it together.

But now, take my day off from work last week. What did I do? I asked myself that question that night as I was closing shop for the day. What had I done all day? And for the life of me, I couldn't think of one thing that I had done during my whole day at home. I had laid around, read a little bit, hung around some more...that was about it. What did I have to show for it? Nothing, not a single solitary thing.

It's got me to thinking and evaluating myself and my habits. Everyone has heard the whole "Go to the ant, thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise." I think of the ants that I was watching the other night on the floor of our house. The little black critters were working non-stop. Now, I have in previous days considered the ant, and I have honestly found nothing desirable in following her example. It sounded just like a wearisome, exhausting, and boring way of life. What fun could there be in a day filled with work?

But now...upon comparison of my two days, each spent in their own way, which one have I come away the most with? So many times, I've shirked having to do work...but when it comes down to actually doing it, I find myself loving it, because of just the joy of being busy and knowing things are getting productively accomplished. When it comes down to it, I really do enjoy working and being busy. It has it's own unique pleasure and reward, and they are so much more wonderful than the "rewards" of having done nothing. I just need to remind myself of that more often!

There is fun in work, really. It's a different kind of fun, and one that last longer and gives one the satisfaction and pride of a job well done.

Today my bedroom was the scene of a horrendous and grotesque crime! And the culprit: my own fish, Sven!

On Friday, my little sister Karis won a goldfish at a party we went to. We were very excited that my solitary Sven was going to have company, since the sad death of Julia, his sister, many months ago. We dumped them together Saturday morning, and all seemed to go well, as they buddied up together...or all seemed well, so we thought.

It's really quite disturbing to walk into your room after getting home from work, and as you walk by your fishbowl, to give it a casual glance...and then stop, as you realize that there is only ONE fish in the bowl. One fish, where there was only a short time ago, two fish. And such was the scenario that I found myself in. Every muscle in my body froze, as I began to look, with my eyes squinted against the sight I knew I must find somewhere amidst the rubble on our floor. Nothing met my eyes, and so with great cries of distress and mental agony, I made the discovery, or lack of it there-of, known to the remainder of the household. They came stampeding in. It was a mystery, to be sure! There was Sven, swimming around in his bowl...but there was no others to be found.

A moment later, the sad discovery was made, as we shook out the blankets that were on the floor, and found the limp and somewhat mutilated remains of our new fish-friend. The marks on his poor little white body attested to the great battle that had been fought, and sadly, lost by this poor valiant soul! And what a battle it must have been, so fierce and to the death, that Jr. jumped right out of his bowl! Amazing!

And there, watching us from the murky depths of his bowl, was Sven, his eyes filled with a diabolical squint, and a smug smile on his warped face. Funny how I never noticed that evil gleam in his beady little eyes...until now.

If anyone were to ask me right now what the worse task in the world is, I would promptly with great conviction answer that having to dig through the big green outside trash can for a minuscule letter definitely ranks top on my list! That was undoubtedly the most repulsively putrid search of my life!! I definitely paid dearly for that piece of paper, which ironically enough, I never did find. *dramatic sigh*

So, tell me again, why did we throw that letter away? 

Front page article found in acclaimed paper The Trout Times:

Yesterday, the afternoon of October the 19^th, editor and teacher, Kellie T., was bodily attacked by a lizard as she was exiting the premises of her job. Waiting for her ride to arrive, she was standing outside watching as her students brought the local pet lizards from out of their cages. With a horrified shriek, one girl lost her gentle grip upon her reptile, and it fell to the ground, where it lay stunned, but alert to it’s sudden opportunity at freedom.

A frantic chase ensued, as all tried to spot the lizard before it disappeared. Amid the bedlam of screams and near hysteria, it was finally positively identified as it stopped to gain it’s bearings next to Kellie’s foot. It’s whereabouts where quickly and loudly made known, and she, relieved to have it caught safe, turned to walk away. Next thing she knew, the cry reached her that sent a chill of repulsion through her, "It’s on Kellie’s shoe!" Her attention immediately arrested, she looked down in horror as the drama unfolded. The lizard, realizing his present state, immediately acted upon the strategy "when you can’t go down...go up." As our heroine was wearing long pants, the escape attempt was visible for all to see as it scurried up almost waist-high. To protect the dignity of those involved, the remainder of the story will be left to the unfolding via educated guessing.

Upon being interviewed after the traumatic event, our party was available for comment. "I just don’t understand," she said, "as to this sudden barrage of critters that have been recently besetting me!"

So, as life returns to normal, and the incident quickly receeds into the hazy realm of memory, it brings to mind the age-old proverb, "A bird in hand is worth two in the bush." Or maybe more appropriately for our tale:

"The lizard on pants is worse than two in the bush!!"

It's called the "bug dance."   You know, you're working outside, you brush up against something...and the next thing you know, you feel something small and hard hit your neck and slide down into the back of your shirt. It wiggles around, tickling and scratching, creating havoc in your mind and imagination. With a shriek of frantic panic, the dance begins! You jump around, hitting yourself, screaming and yelling, every imaginable antic to rid yourself of the unwanted pestilence! Eventually much to your immense relief, the crisis passes...but the "phantom bug" unavoidably remains hauntingly in your mind, threatening to return at any moment!

And so, such was the outcome of my endeavors to get some yard-work put in for today. Yuck, shudder. It's not that I necessarily hate bugs. They have a place in this world...but it's definitely not crawling down my shirt!