More than a Day

Almost a month ago a switch flipped inside of me. In 0.4 seconds I went from enjoying and appreciating fall to ready to deck the halls. I threatened to make Trick or Treaters pretend they were Christmas carolers before I gave them candy.  (No wonder no one came to my house).

Of course, my passion and excitement for Christmastime has been met with resistance. Everyone wants Thanksgiving to have its day.

Hogwash, I say! Hogwash.

Thanksgiving is not a day, friends; it's a lifestyle!

Let thanksgiving have its day... today and every day!

Yes, I'm eating turkey, sweet potatoes, and pumpkin pie. Yes, I'm participating in the round-table discussion of what we're thankful for.

But it goes beyond today. Since the beginning of September I've been keeping a list of 1,000 things I am thankful for, inspired by Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts.  I just passed thing number 500.

Should I not be further?  Should I not be able to list 1,000 things each day for which I am thankful?  Every breath, every minute...

Here are some highlights from my 1,000 gifts and counting.

I am thankful...
95. For working heat in my car.
100. For friends who are going to make sure I come out of limbo as a prayer warrior.
102. For Sunday lunch.
106. For hunger.
115. For the courage to blog about my struggles.
118. For Your appearance at rock bottom and the willingness to touch hearts of even the most broken people.
126. For the beautiful wet leaf on my sunroof.
149. For self-imported Chinese tea.
160. For warm wash cloths and the reminder You sent me through it.
188. For friends all across the country willing to let me stay with them.
190. For the reminder of what You've done and how You've been faithful.
205. For music videos that leave me with a "bowl full of tears."
208. That it somehow worked to have a queen mattress, king sheets, a twin comforter, and a full quilt.
225. For laughter so hard I can barely breathe.
236. For fifty hugs in eight hours.
245. For a busy schedule.
254. For the reminder that just because our circumstances aren't great doesn't mean You don't love us and we're not in Your will.
274. For peanut butter and chocolate covered pretzels.
280. For encouraging, not awkward, networking meetings.
291. For the ability to contact people around the world with the click of a button.
321. For the beautiful moment we shared during communion and the reminder that I am not worthy yet You grant me grace.
338. For Job who spoke harsh words to You long before I ever did.
342. For fast email responses. (And really email responses in general).
360. That the question is, "How much will I pay for gas?" Not "Will I find gas?" or "Can I afford gas?"
362. For esperar--hope, waiting
372. For a lifestyle of Thanksgiving rather than a day or a month.
387. For nearly-coffee-spewing laughter.
388. For the reminder that You want to fill my cup until it overflows (without cracks)
399. For memories so sweet.
427. For the hair dryer.
437. For Starbucks gift cards.
453. For the heart You've given me for missions and Your children worldwide.
460. For evenings of reading by the fire curled up in a blanket.
465. For the ability to proclaim, "If it's You, I'm in!" and both mean and believe it. To trust it.
474. For online ASL dictionaries.
488. For forgiveness when I sing happy birthday to the wrong person.

News from Brazil and Ecuador

Toddler. Emergency neurosurgery. Third world country.

Those six words make me shudder. This wasn't some heart-breaking story from a world away, this was Jenny's son Ethan. (You may know Jennifer Rogers Spinola as the author of Southern Fried Sushi... if you don't yet, you need to!)

As some of the aforementioned words in English and Portuguese started popping up on my facebook and blog dashboard, I tried to piece together what was happening and how I could best pray for the Spinola family. Jenny wrote this beautiful post detailing their terrifying experience.

Now, a week later, this popped up on my newsfeed: The CT scan was clear! Followed by another beautiful post about the power of our Creator!

Third world country. Compassion International.

Those five words excite me!

Right NOW there's a team of Compassion Bloggers visiting Ecuador to see what the Lord is doing there through Compassion International. They're telling stories of hope in a poverty-striken town that will break your heart. They're making a photo dictionary of words like "kitchen" and "closet" in Ecuador. It's hard. It's right. It's good. Read it.

National Novel Writing Month

NaNoWriMo... Those words make my brain hurt. I hit 17,000 words tonight. Several thousand of them were puked out in the last four hours or so. That and it's 1am. I'm going to bed, friends. Happy 11-11-11!

But don't forget to check out Jenny's blog and the Compassion bloggers! You won't regret it!

Peace!

<>< K

My Friends Hate Me

Today words are not my friends.  They've been really mean to me lately.  They're tripping over each other as they fall from my mouth.  They clog like an ink blot as they're scratched from my pen.  They hate me.  And I hate it.

When technology and I don't get along, when my suitemates pick on me, when the world seems to be against me, I still have my word-friends to back me up.  Except now.

Who am I if I cannot cooperate with the English language?

I am still a daughter of God, a friend, a roommate.  I'm still a role model, a team leader, and a big sister.  But I am not me.  I am a writer.  This is what I do.  What do you do when you can't do what you do?

You blog about it.  But then you remember what Sherman Alexie said, "Every word on your blog is a word not in your book."  I guess I'm nostalgic for my book.  I reread and tweek scenes, but it isn't the same.  Sure, I still have some of the excitement about someday finishing it but that someday apparently isn't today.

I.  Am.  Frustrated.

<>< Katie

The Gang's All Here

Well, summer is over.  Even though classes don't start for another few days, I'm back at school.  Most students aren't back yet, but all six of the girls in my apartment are back.  (Jennifer, Nikki, Allyson, Amy, and Elizabeth)  Despite our hectic pre-semester schedules, it's been great to be back together playing Banangrams, being sassed, Wii-ing, being sassed, cuddling, being sassed...

Oh, and the light switches have been fixed.  Allelulia!  No more being blinded because you, heaven forbid, rolled over in the middle of the night.  Now if you sit still for fifteen minutes, which I can do thank you very much, the light goes off.  Of the two, I prefer this (I think).

Another glitch in our brand new building is the lack of intenet.  Since school is not in session, the computer lab are not open, so I have to butter up to a professor, yes, before school even starts, to check my email.  I can survive without internet.  Facebook can wait.  Email's important, but anyone emailing me urgently right now will accept the "My internet's not connected yet" excuse.  The blog, sorry friends, can survive a few days without me.  Books, however, need to be ordered.  At the beginning of last semester I talked about how I like brand new books and don't mind paying bookstore prices to not have to worry about the hassle.  I stand by those opinions.  However, this semester my schedule includes a stinky science class with a text book that costs almost a million dollars. A book I'm never going to use again and will not be able to sell.  So I Amazoned it. (I just made "Amazon" a verb... it's English).  Since I had to order that one online, there were a few others I ordered, too.  Well, intended to order.  The lack of internet put an impasse on my plan.  I'm not making an online purchase from a public computer, sorry.

Periodically, I can get internet when sitting in a certain position on my roommate Jennifer's bed.  Ever seen someone putting cell phone in the most bizarre of positions in order to get a signal?  Yes, that's me with my computer.  When I get Jennifer's Bed internet it's for about ten minutes and that's it for the entire day. This morning, I was starting to get cranky about the situation and stressed about the upcoming semester.

I only had a half hour, so I booted up my computer, plopped it on Jennifer's bed, and began to rant.  "God, I can live without internet. I proved that several times this summer and again this week. However, I'm really starting to worry about this upcoming semester. If I could just order my books I'd feel a lot better."  I checked my AOL email since it's my internet provider (since 1997!) but before I checked my school email and gmail, before I checked facebook, before I checked the blog (gasp!) I went to Amazon.

Finding the books was quick and easy.  Checking out, no problem.  I got decent deals and saved a lot of money.  Life was good.  I hit "Submit this purchase."  It went.  PAH!  I closed amazon and typed "katieax.blogspot.com" into the navigation bar.

"Internet Explorer cannot display the page."

I was moderately annoyed and simultaneously moderately amused.  I said I wanted internet to order books.  I got internet to order books.  I could not help but say, "Thank You, God."  The blog.  Facebook.  Email.  All were unnecessary distractions.
 
Twelve hours later, I'm using some friends for their internet to update my social media outlets, not for work.  Life is good.
 
<>< Katie
 
Reason of the Day to Laugh at Katie:

I dropped my socks in the toilet.  No, they weren't on my feet.  Yes, the toilet was empty.

Wrong Number

It's Friday morning (ok, early afternoon).  I'm sitting in the den blogging with my feet above the desktop keyboard to where I have to reach around my knees to type.  No one else understands how I do it but to me it's surprisingly comfortable.  My sister Laura's in the kitchen eating breakfast, something I should do any minute.  The house phone rings.  Yes, we have a landline.  I pick up the waterproof yellow phone in front of me to check the caller-id.  I don't recognize it, so I set the phone down.  Since I only live here part-time no one calls me on this number.  Even when I lived here full-time every single phone conversation went something like this:
Katie: Hello?
Caller: Hey, Sarah, it's Somebody Random who just keeps talking until I have to cut her off.
Katie: This isn't Sarah.  Hold on, let me find her for you.
Caller: Oh, sorry, Laura.
Katie: Not Laura either.
Caller: Wow!  Christina you sound so grown up.
Katie: Keep guessing.
Caller: Freddy?
Yeah.  I don't answer the phone anymore because apparently I sound like a man...  Besides, if it's not for me, why answer the phone?  To take a message?  We have this cool machine that does that for us.

I hear Laura in the kitchen also pick up the phone and check the caller-id.  She must recognize the name because she answers the phone.
Laura: Hello?
Woman: Who is this?!
Laura: Laura.
Woman: Oh. Sorry. Wrong number.  Bye.
Laura: Bye.

She hangs up and bursts out laughing.  "The woman spazzed when a female answers the phone!  It was so funny."

After chastising her for saying her name to a stranger (In my mind the appropriate answer is, "You called me; who is this?") we had a good laugh at this stranger's wrong number.  Maybe it's because I'm a writer that I want to know what her thoughts were when Laura answered the phone.  Was she calling home to check on a husband she suspects is cheating?  Was she expecting a young child to answer (or not answer) the phone?  Is she just a freak-out lady?

We laugh, and I return to my blogging.

<>< Katie

An Afternoon at Starbucks

A few weeks ago I confided in you all that I have this secret goal to one day become a coffee shop-dwelling writer.  I talked about how my first shot at that goal didn't go so well since I chose a small, local coffee shop where professors hold office hours and my friends dwell.  I didn't give up, and on Wednesday I took a second stab at that goal.

"Hey, do you guys know of any good coffee shops in the area?" I asked after an enlightening, entertaining lunch discussing world politics and the best way to remove snot from one's nose (yes, really).

"Come over to church and use our coffee shop; that's why we have it," Bob suggested.  Then he laughed, "No, you wouldn't get any work done; you'd just talk."  I pretended to be mad at him, but we both knew it was the truth.

"Barnes and Noble has a coffee shop.  As does Borders," Jessica provided.  No good.  I'd spend more than the $3 I had in my wallet.

"Or there's a Starbucks across the street," Emily offered.

I was looking for a small, local coffee shop, but Starbucks would have to do.  I ventured across the street, walked into Starbucks with my purple purse, purple computer bag, and purple tumbler, and took a seat at the first table I saw with an outlet.  There I sat.  My water warm (it sat in the car during lunch).  My coffee cold (I only bought it so I didn't feel like I was loitering).  My battery dead (it was fine Monday, but by Tuesday it wouldn't hold a charge).  My pen sticky, my notebook out, and my inspiration missing.  I had been afraid of that.  I wasn't too worried.  I had plenty of stories to write.  Since the novel's hit a stand-still I've explored short stories.  As I've sure you've all noticed, I don't do "short" but, boy, do I love "stories."  If none of those would suffice, I had plenty of old material to play with.  I've never written "Major Parking Lot Incident" or I could tell the stories behind some of the weird items I'm finding as I clean my bedroom.  That wasn't necessary.  I did several hours of "picking" and POV focusing before finally calling it a day.

One thing I started in March was what I think I'm going to call the "inspiration box"  (Unless someone else has a more clever title). Anytime I read a good prompt, quote, exercise, or idea it goes in a gold box I saved from this past Christmas.  Most of these come from a writer's blog but some come from class and others from others.  I'd love to hear, how do you find inspiration?  What do you write when words don't come?  Also, can you work in a coffee shop or do you spend too much time people watching?  I've had that problem, too.

Oh, and how about a quick quote from Donald Miller's A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.

"And as I worked on the novel, as my character did what he wanted and ruined my story, it reminded me of life in certain ways.  I mean, as I sat there in my office feeling like God making my worlds, and as my characters fought to have their way, their senseless, selfish ways of nonstory, I could identify with them... I was also that character, fighting God and I could see God sitting at His computer, staring blankly at His screen as I asked Him to write in some money and some sex and some comfort." (Pg 85-86)

<>< Katie

Is this normal?

I've got a not-so-rare genetic disease.  I got it from my mom.  My sisters have it, too, but theirs isn't as severe.

When I was home in March, we couldn't park Maxwell (my dad's car) in the garage because there were new windows there.  They couldn't put the new windows in until the wood floor on the first floor was refinished.  They couldn't refinish the floor until they (a) decided on a color (b) sanded down all of the footboards in the entire house and refinished those with three coats of varnish.  Yes, my mother on her hands and knees sanding the upstairs bathroom (with linoleum floor and no windows) is getting us one step closer to a refinished wood floor and replaced windows.  Two months later, the windows are still in the garage.  This is our disease: the inability to complete one project before moving on to the next.

My arrival home spurred a big episode...
My task: unpack the cars and fit everything into my bedroom or under the ping pong table downstairs.  The living room make be borrowed but only until Laura's graduation party in late June.

Step One: clean the bedroom
This means all of the papers previously heaped neatly in the corner under the window are now sorted in piles and scattered across the room.  Before finding homes for all of these "important documents" I moved on to step two.

Step Two: Operation Bookshelf
My family's notorious for trying to fit too much furniture in a single room.  Right now, that room is my bedroom.  It's already full with a matching bedroom set, I've added two white CD cases, and now a Dad-made bookshelf.  Problem: there is no wall space for the bookshelf.  I began sorting and piling next to the door to find a space for said bookshelf, thus adding to the mountains of paper sorted neatly all over the room.  I also entertian the idea of rearranging every piece of furniture in my bedroom in order to accomodate said bookshelf.  However, I then remember Mom and I have no upper body strength and Dad's not allowed to lift anything heavy.  He's never been one for the rules, so I don't dare tempt him.  Time to move on to step three.

Step Three: You have a window seat?
Well, a windowseat for the cats.  It's so full of stuff animals that sometimes I'm working in my room for a solid five minutes before I realize one of my stuff animals is moving... hello, Cow (our holstein kitty whose name is really Sparkle).  All of the stuff animals have been sorted into two piles: keep, donate.  Donate pile moves to Mom and Dad's bedroom.  Keep pile stays on my bed.  Long-term they go into a plastic tub I have in the basement, but, go figure, it's on the bottom of the stack of tubs.  Dad's still not allowed to lift anything heavy.

Step Four: Put photos in picture frames
You've had those picture frames for years; maybe it's time you put something in them.  Go downstairs to the computer with a printer and search for the perfect photos.  While you're waiting for the page to load, waste no time and blog a little bit.  Make sure to read Kevin's hilarious blog about the humbling experience that was dislocating his shoulder.  (Yes, Mr. "Katie, you update too much" forgot about his blog for a month... at least I'm loyal to my readers)

Step Five: Dad wants his car back
Translation: get your dorm room out of Maxwell.  Freshman year, my dorm room lived in the living room all summer.  Last year, it was almost a month before I unpacked my car (named Andy).  We'll see what happens this year.

Step Six: Bedtime.
Oh, snap.  I have a bed?  And a safe fire escape for the middle of the night?  Let's put these papers into a nice pile under the window, the stuff animals can live on the windowseat, and the bookshelf can chill in the middle of the room.  What a successful day!  :-)

Do you have this disease too?  To my knowledge there is no known cure.  However, books have be written about this horrible condition.  They are entitled: If You Give a Moose a Muffin and If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.  Check them out at your local library, don't forget to put gas in your car and pick up cheese at the grocery store on the way there.

<>< Katie

Campfire

Earlier this semester I read a blog about a little boy with burns that reminded me of my own burn story. The resonance hit me hard and after two days of dwelling finally I decided to take my own classic advice and "write about it."  I've written about it a million times before, but it was time to do it again and a little differently.

On the first day of my Human Biology class the professor said, "This is the non-science majors class.  I realize all of you are only here because you have to be.  You're not science people and that's ok, but for me to remember that I'm going to think of you all as my father.  My father was a poet.  In my brain, you are all poets."

I remember thinking to myself, I'm not a poet, but I am closer to a poet than a scientist. 

I'm still not a poet, but I wrote a poem explaining why I once told Andy I'm allergic to fire.

<>< Katie

"Campfire"

She ran her fingers over
discolored imperfections on her forearms
before pulling down her sleeves to hide
the scars of a clumsy childhood.

She didn’t remember
tripping over the pesky shoelace,
the metal safety rim bruising her leg.
But all too well she remembered
failing to choke back the tears
as smoldering coals gripped her forearms,

the firm grasp on the back of her shirt,
her rescuer, her mother,
dragging her to the a perfectly-placed water pump,
as if it had been awaiting her misfortune.

She remembered the
pain as her skin burned,
embarrassment of her own misstep,
fear and unknown in the Emergency Room
the doctor poking incessantly asking if she felt it.
Yes. It hurt.

She remembered the rules
no pool, no sun.
A bird was told not to fly.
She tried to argue but
her voice had vanished,
the verdict not negotiable.

She remembered
devastation,
summer lasting an eternity
bandages over both arms,
trying in vain to dry one hand,
always refusing to explain why.

Years later the bandages are gone,
but the scars remain like
she tanned while wearing fishnets,
even if only for her to see
and still she avoids explaining.

Bus Ride Prayer

On the long bus ride back from the ski trip, we took a Prayer Break where all distractions were put away. Or at least that was the intent. My distractions are often in my head (aka mentally writing), so eliminating those are hard but I really tried. No iPod, no cell phones, no movie, no talking; only talking to God.

I folded my hands but opted against closing my eyes. If I closed my eyes, I probably would have fallen asleep. Besides, who wants to close their eyes while riding through the beautiful mountains?

Katie: Hey, God, I absolutely love these mountains You've created. I'm willing to risk motion-sickness and take my eyes off the road to enjoy this beautiful creation You've made. Every tree perfectly formed and every mountain hump meticulously placed. The effort and precision amazes me!
God: You know, Katie, I put the same amount of effort and precision into creating you.

My prayer time could have been over right then and there. I was content; I was filled. But it wasn't. There was still eighteen minutes to go, and God had more things He wanted to teach me. He often teaches me through the things I see (another reason I didn't want to close my eyes).

We passed a sign that said, "Rest Area. No facilities."
I began to think to myself about how dumb that is: a rest area with no facilities. As we drew closer there was another sign stating it's a look-out point without facilities. Ok, beautiful but not practical.

We all, women especially, want to be considered beautiful. Most of us enjoy feeling pretty. In fact, sometimes when we're getting gussied up we don't pay attention to the practical. We're too concerned with "Does this look good" than "Will I be able to walk in these shoes?" We much rather have lovely long eye lashes than realize we can't see because mascara is making lines down our glasses every time we blink. I prayed that God make my life practical rather than beautiful.

Maybe He doesn't have fame and glory in my future. Maybe my blog will never have more than eleven readers. Maybe the words He's given me have a deep impact on those eleven readers and draw them closer to Him. Maybe that type of intimacy isn't available in a community with a larger reading audience. Maybe one day I'll be ok with that. I prayed that day would be soon. Make my life practical rather than beautiful.

Not five minutes later, the Garmin fell. Sitting in the front seat of the bus, I crawled forward, rescued it off the dash board, stuck it back together, and re-suctioned it to the windshield.

"Good in theory; poor in design," the bus driver said to me with a smile.

I am a firm believer that things should be designed by the people who are going to use them. College students should design dorm rooms. Teachers and students should design classrooms. Doctors and nurses should design hospitals. Bus drivers should design Garmins.

However, there is one exception to this rule. One time when the "thing" being used should not be designed by the user. Life. My life should not be designed by me, the liver (aka the person living it). Instead, I believe life should be designed by God. After all, the life we create is good in theory but poor in design. The life we make is beautiful but not practical.

Travel with me through the mountains of life and into this dangerous prayer:
Abba Father, make my life practical rather than beautiful. Wipe away my good theories and replace them with Your great designs. Let me be ok with it.

Let me know how I can pray for you and have a wonderful week!
<>< Katie

Lost: Thumb (Drive)

You know those songs you haven't heard in five or ten years? The ones that you forgot about? The ones that when they reappear become your favorite all over again? That's where this Relient K song fits into my life. I heard it earlier in the semester when Keith and friends sang it at chapel. I fell in love with it all over again and began singing it almost constantly! I don't have it on a CD and I can't find it online, but I make Andy serenade me every time I see him. Much to Amy's chagrin, he taught me to sing it myself.

"Technically I didn't teach her to sing it. She was singing it already. I just taught her to sing it correctly. Would you rather I let her sing it incorrectly next time?"

Never underestimate my Jesus. You're telling me that there's no hope; I'm tellin' you you're wrong. Never underestimate my Jesus. When the world around you crumbles: He will be strong; He will be strong.

Well, I was very grateful for his teaching me correctly because on Wednesday I lost my thumb drive (jump drive, flash drive, life, pick your term of choice). Like I've already mentioned, I eat computers so it wasn't a big surprise when my beloved blue side kicked walked out of my life. However, that doesn't make it fair or pleasant.

You're telling me that there's no hope; I'm telling you you're wrong.

Right. Hope is not gone. My thumb drive is gone. Along with it the latest drafts of my novel, my completed powerpoint for Monday's class presentation, my resume, my collection of crazy quotes, and I don't want to know what else. Of course, my first instinct was to blog about my catastrophic loss. I couldn't. Thanks, Lent. My life is missing and I can't even use my favorite coping mechanism! Yesterday was not a pleasant day.

Never under estimate my Jesus.

I'm a creature of habit. I use the same bathroom stall, I aim for the same computer in the lab, I sit in the same section of caf, so retracing my steps isn't hard. Especially since I can narrow it down to two hours from when I had it last to when I noticed it was missing. Retracing my steps was easy: computer lab (yes, I ejected it), copy room, three different professors' offices, bathroom, and the caf. That's it. The professors haven't seen it, the secretaries haven't seen it, the police haven't seen it, the caf woman hasn't seen it. No one has seen it. It's vanished into the dark abyss!

"Maybe you flushed it," Elizabeth suggested. That doesn't help.

When the world around you crumbles: He will be strong; He will be strong.

"CARL! Why are his hands gone?!" Screamed the llama in the disturbing video Andy and Dr. Z showed me on Tuesday. Well, my hands are gone; just my thumb. Drive. Most things I lost can be replaced with an earlier version... except the quotes list. Sure, it's just for fun but gosh can it make me laugh. I could use a laugh right now.

<>< Katie

PS: If you see a blue, rubbery thumb drive that says, "Katie" when you plug it in: it's mine. Yes, the one that almost never leaves my computer

Ash Wednesday

For Mardi Gras one of my friend Miriam bought us all a King Cake to enjoy. Excited to experience my first King Cake, I took a big bite and what did I find? A piece of plastic. Miriam and the other girls all errupted laughing.

Apparently, every King Cake contains a plastic baby and whosever piece of cake contains the baby is responsible for buying the King Cake the following year. They all noticed the baby in my piece but no one bothered to tell me it was there OR what it meant. Instead, I'm gnawing on plastic. Thanks, girls.

Oh, and thanks for giving the girl from out-of-state the fetus because she'll definitely be able to buy the King Cake next year! Not gonna happen.

For me, this week has always been about something different than avoiding plastic in a King Cake. Fat Tuesday's often passed over as we focus on Ash Wednesday.

True, I'm not Catholic, but it's our family's tradition to give something up for Lent. As I searched for something to sacrifice this year, I looked at were my time is going. Whether you can see it or not a lot of time is going to this blog. Don't worry, no 40-day blog haitus. However, I am going to give up updating more than once a day. ;-)

When I started this blog, I intended to update every other day or every few days. Well, "every few days" turned into "once a month" and I don't want that to happen again. However, daily blogging is incessant, and I never intended to keep it up as long as I have. We're going back to a roughly every other day schedule.

With that said, I can't write about everything. Sad day! Therefore, I want to know: what do you most enjoy reading? When you type in my url what do you most hope I've written about today? God moments? Suite stories? Writing tips? Family quotes? Book reviews? Some language mishap? Birthday blogs? Poetry? Other?

You already know my mantra, if you take the time to read this take the time to let me know you've read it.

Thanks!
<>< Katie

"Because [God's] steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise [Him]. So I will bless [Him] as long as I live; in [His] name I will lift up my hands." Psalm 63:3-4

Part II: The Writer's Notebook

This is Part II of the "Katie's a Nerd" blog series. See Part I here.

"Why do you have a Day Book?" Roxy asked me yesterday as I tried to scribble down a few more notes for my blog prior to the start class.

"I'm a writer," I told her. I could tell from the confused look on her face that my answer was not satisfactory. From her terminology, I also knew which professor she had for her English general requirement classes therefore had a place to start with the explanation that would consume my remaining writing time.

A Day Book is a catch-all often used for classes. It includes homework, class exercises, free writing, notes, thoughts, ideas, and often handouts (thank you, glue stick). A Writer's Notebook is basically the same thing with a more intimidating name, less focus on classwork, and a little bit less glue. It's really easy to separate our English students by concentration and favorite professor based on the term used for the notebook clutched to their chest.

I wasn't a Writer's Notebook/ Day Book girl. The term didn't intimidate me, the lack of organization did. I love the organization of having separate places for different things and had a system. One binder for class, the PowerPoint for quotes, Word for story thoughts, the blog for God moments, and a small journal for the day's events. The thoughts of having all of those things combined together in one composition book concerned me. Imagine the mess! Then I glanced around my room and noticed the plethora of post-it notes strewn everywhere and decided something needed to change.

Enter my Writer's Notebook. I gave in and bought a composition book only because I finally found some that were college ruled! (Thanks, Office Depot). It lives in my back pack and is almost always with me. Whether I reach for it over a loose leaf sheet of paper is something I'm still working on, but I am improving. It is also the first thing I pack when I'm traveling. The first drafts of many of these blogs are hidden within its pages sitting side-by-side with thoughts that have yet to make an appearance in blog-world. It also contains great quotes and conversations, rough scenes from my novel, and sometimes my rants that cannot stay contained inside of me. For organization, I've tried to color-code my writing in pencil, black pen, and purple pen, but sometimes I forget which color means what. Sure, I still have a post-its everywhere, but I'm learning to enjoy the chaos of my Writer's Notebook.

This also leads to bedlam when the Writer's Notebook vanishes.

"OH MY GOSH!! I lost my Day Book," Keith ran into the caf screaming. Panic stuck. I guess he even sent text messages telling people to pray for him because it was like part of his life and been ripped from him.

"It'd be like if someone stole our blogs!" He said hitting me in the arm trying to put this catastrophe in perspective for me. I already understood, but there was no cutting him off. "Can you imagine if someone stole our blogs!"

"Katie's life would be over," Nikki teased. Maybe I'll hide her Writer's Notebook for a few hours and see how she likes it!

If you don't have a Writer's Notebook/ Day Book, get one. (And don't lose it, Keith). It doesn't have to be a college-ruled composition book. It can be a 10cent notebook Wal-mart sells right before school starts but know your spine will probably get messed up. It can be a fancy leather-bound book that's soft to the fingers but know those get expensive after one or two. Adapt these ideas (that I've already adapted once) and find something that works for you. But get a Writer's Notebook. Non-writers, I won't laugh (too hard) at you if you call yours a "Day Book."

Oh, and don't use a blog to catch your thoughts. I know, I'm writing to myself here. The chances of me accidentally destroying my blog is greater than losing my Writer's Notebook. I eat computers. Paper doesn't taste as good.

Remember those stories we talked about yesterday? Go break in your Writer's Notebook with some of them. :-)

Have you found Writers' Notebooks/ Day Books work for you? Are they practical for your life? Please let me know!

<>< Katie
PS: Happy birthday, Emily. :-)

Rainy Days

Yesterday morning I passed my FOCUS brother Jordan on his way to breakfast.

"Hey, how are you?" I asked giving him a hug. I knew the answer before he spoke.

"Not good. It's raining. I HATE the rain. Absolutely hate it more than anything else in the world. It's going to be a bad day," he explained. As someone whose mood is often dictated by the weather, I understood. Rainy days are often miserable but "hate" is a strong word.

"Do me a favor, try to find one thing good in today. Yeah, it's rainy and gross, but God still made today and therefore there must be one thing good in it," I coached. He kind of groaned, and we went our separate ways.

I don't see Jordan very often and was surprised when I saw him again at dinner. I asked him about his good thing for the day.

"I got a good grade on a test," he said proudly.

In the next few minutes we made a list of good things:
1. Good grade
2. He's alive and breathing
3. It's Friday
4. We saw each other twice

Not bad for someone who hates the rain more than anything! Sure, they're all pretty basic but they're still reasons to smile on a no good, very bad rainy day.

This morning, I saw him again and asked how he was doing.

"Today is much better. It's not raining today. My feet are dry!" His girlfriend and I teased him about getting some rainboats. Yeah, that idea didn't fly. Maybe dry feet was his good thing for today.

I think we all have days like Jordan where we know before breakfast that it's going to be a bad day. Rain, headaches, heavy backpacks, and nasty caf food make my days bad. Smiles and hugs from friends, cancelled classes, and blog comments make my days better.

I'd challenge you to do the same thing I often encourage myself to do and I suggested Jordan do: find one thing good in today. Even as simple and being grateful that you got out of bed this morning.

"This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it" - Psalm 118:24 (emphasis mine)

<>< Katie

The Suite Life

The first and last time I bribe my suitemates to dinner by volunteering to drive in the snow...
Katie: Okay, girls, I'm going downstairs to get my laundry. When I come back we're going to dinner. Five minutes.
Elizabeth: We need ten minutes.
Katie: Be fast! I'm hungry, and I have a headache.
Nikki: I think Katie's just crabby because she hasn't blogged today.
Katie: I HAVE blogged today which you'd know if you ever read my blog.
Elizabeth: I think Katie should go blog again.
Katie: Seven minutes! You just wasted three sassin' me.

Twenty minutes later
Katie: Girls. Car. Now. Hungry. Headache. Remember?
Nikki: Go scrape the snow off; we'll wait here. Pull the car up right here on the sidewalk for us.
Katie: You want it on the second floor, too?

A few minutes later
Elizabeth: I'm wet!
Amy: KATIE!! Nikki hit me with a snowball.
Katie: Nikki, get in the car!
Amy: You need to drive me to the hospital.
Katie: I'm not driving you to the hospital.
Amy: But it hurt me!
Katie: Then you can borrow my bike, but this car is headed to the caf. Nikki Raye, get in the car!
Elizabeth: I'm cold, Roommate, close the door.
Nikki: I've hit two of my eight roommates with snowballs! No, I mean, two of my seven roommates. I'm going to get them all!
Amy: You're going to get yourself, too? There are only seven of us total.
Katie: Hit me with a snowball, and you're walking back from dinner.

At dinner
Amy: How's your headache?
Katie: Annoying enough that I've decided to name it: Amy Nikki Elizabeth.
Elizabeth: Why am I last?
Katie: Because you took my car keys. Give them back or we're all walking, and I have no problem walking in snow.
Elizabeth: [giggling] I don't have them!
Katie: I don't know which one of you has them at the present moment, but I know all three of you are equally guilty.

After dinner
Elizabeth: ["whispering" from the passenger seat to the back seat] Hey, Nikki, did you ever talk to Tony about that thing?
Nikki: Huh?
Elizabeth: You know! Amy, I think you were there, too.
Katie: Why are you trying to talk in code if Nikki and Amy were both there? Clearly you're trying to hide your secret from me. I'm a bit more perceptive than you've given me credit for being, thank you very much.
Nikki: Katie, let's just say things happen in our apartment that you wouldn't approve of.
Katie: Well, as long as they don't happen in, what bedroom am I? C! As long as they don't happen in C.
Amy: Well, there were two men in there...
[all three burst out laughing]
Katie: Stop breathing; you're fogging up the windshield.
Nikki: Oh, Kax. Hey! So I finally registared on the Wii today and it asked me if I was your friend. I sat there for a minute and thought before I decided to click yes.
Katie: You are not my friend right now.
Nikki: I'm sorry I hit you with that snowball.
Katie: No you're not but I forgive you.
Nikki: You're right: I'm not. [evil Nikki cackel]

Just before bed when I emerged from my bedroom for the first time in a few hours
Adam: Katie, were you doing your thing in there that whole time?
I gave him a confused look. Where I'm from, we always say "Mom, Puke did his thing" to mean "the cat threw up," and no, I did not vomit.
Allyson: Blogging.
Katie: Oh, no. I was writing.
Adam gave me a face that said, "There's a difference?" Silly science major.

This was last night. We walked tonight. Who knew it could take twenty minutes to walk less than a mile...
<>< Katie

This Means War!

In case I need any more incentive to update my blog, my friend Kevin has challenged me to a blog war. I don't really understand why Mr. Kassakatis believes he's going to win this war. Mean, my name is a dangerous weapon while his is the inflammation of the kassaka. What on earth is a kassaka?

<>< Katie Ax-Your-Face

New Rule

"What did you do over break?" Ruth asked me on Friday night.

"Blogged, scrapbooked, blogged, wrote, blogged," I told her. I little while later I was telling her about my new blogger obession, and she laughed at me!

"You're right, you did blog all break!"

I can't help it. On Friday, I had a little while to check my email before class. I checked all of my email addresses, read blog updates (a lot of people updated on Friday, might I add), and still had a few minutes left before class.

I'm missing one, I thought to myself. There's some website I always check that I haven't checked yet this morning.

I thought about it for about thirty seconds before it dawned on me and I literally laughed out loud. In the library. I had not checked facebook!

With that said, I proclaim a new rule.

I know, "Too many rules; no more rules." My mom tells me that all of the time, but I think she will approve of this one.

No blogs before homework is completed for the next day.

This doesn't mean I can't check blogs during my class break on MWF but only AFTER I eat breakfast. Learned that lesson last week... ask my ASL class about my noisy estómago. :-)

However, I cannot read blogs in my apartment until after I've done my homework (or at least a significant amount it). Otherwise we have weekends like this one.

What did I do this weekend?

Friday: blogged, chilled at the northern harbor, and wrote (very productive)
Saturday: blogged, scrapbooked, and went out to dinner (wonderful social time)
Sunday: church, blogged, had dinner in, and went bowling (Disappointed with myself)

Do you see a lot of homework being done here? I don't. I see a lot of blogging. :-)

Don't get me wrong, I loved my weekend, and I'm slowly getting better regarding my recent blogger obsession, but it's still the first thing I want to do everyday.

No blogs until after I've done my reading. Sorry, yall.

<>< Katie

That's Weird

I wasn't going to update my blog today, but my friend Kevin (who says I already update my blog too) much forced me to do it. To make Nikki happy, it's a short blog. Gosh, I'm such a people-pleaser.

Everyone things I spend my entire break on blogger, and they aren't too far off...

In blogger, your choices for gender are:
Male
Female
Unspecified

When I first created my blog, I wanted to be more anonymous, so I opted for an "unspecified" gender. Even though I don't use place names, I have grown more content in revealing pieces about myself. I went to change my gender to "Female" and noticed I'd messed up. Instead of hitting "Unspecified" I had been blogging as a "Male."

When I was talking to my friend Kevin about why I updated my profile, I said, "Yeah, I'm not a man anymore."

Weird.

Five minutes later we saw a cult of four matching white trucks changing the reflectors in the road. Weird.

At the same time we said, "That's weird."

That's weird.

<>< Katie

New Year, New Plan

When I look back at my blogs for the past year, I realize I've been a pretty bad blogger. The highest number of posts I've had in a single month is nine. That's not a pretty number. I keep saying I'm going to do better and that doesn't happen, so here's my plan:


For the rest of Christmas break I'm going to try and post daily. As I get back into the brouhaha of school I'll return to my poorly-kept every other day rotation. Some of these blogs will be God moments but some will just be funny stories and you'll have to find your own spiritual connection. I'm also going to try to resurrect the Birthday Blog idea (I know, Melissa, you never got yours; I haven't forgotten). I'll also write about whatever else is on my mind: dreams, book reviews, old memories, and maybe--if you're really nice to me--you'll get blips from the story I've been working on for years (but no promises). Even though my psych class is over I'm going to keep working on my project to minimize the complaining, so I'm going to try to avoid "people are basically stupid" blogs. I also don't want you to hear the play-by-play of my day because, frankly, no one cares that I ate peanut butter on my breakfast bagel today instead of my normal extra cream cheese. Oh, and sometimes I think in Spanish and sometimes I think in sign language, so I apologize if you need to learn both of those in order to read this blog. Be multilingual. It's fun. I'll try to keep it mostly in English but sometimes I just can't help myself.

With that said, I need your help. It's really discouraging to look back and my blog and see "0 comments," "0 comments," "0 comments." It makes me wonder if I'm talking to myself or if people actually read this. Do me a favor and if you take the time to read it, take the time to let me know you're read it. I don't care if your comment is a, "I read this post," "Good," "That doesn't make sense," or even "Grammar mistake here" if you must. Please just let me know I am actually writing for an audience and not just for myself. I'd appreciate that a lot. Thanks!

This is me being vulnerable, please be nice.
<>< Katie

Hola

Long time no chat!

Comments make my day, so when there are no comments this isn't much incentive to blog more. If you take the time to read it, take the time to lemme know you read it. :-)

I just got back from a mission trip, and so I'm formulating my experiences into words. Hopefully there will be some fun stories/ lessons mixed in with the amazing memories.

Learning to listen,
<>< Katie

Can't I Just...

My friend Danny updated his blog the other day with a post about how it's much easier to minister to people from the other side of the radio, podium, or cyberworld, than it is to sit down with people in person. I'd have to agree.

God has this tendency to make us a bit uncomfortable.

This year I became a small group leader for a wonderful group of girls. God literally shoved me out of my comfort zone and forced me to put down the pen and use my voice instead. Now, I have no problem talking. I love it, actually. But there are so many reasons I didn't want to talk in front of people: what if I tell them something that's not of God, what if I talk too fast (quite possible since apparently I'm "Telemundo in English"), what if I sound stupid, what if they don't understand what I'm trying to say. What if I make a fool of myself?

Well, I have made a fool of myself. (Although I'm not the one that thought she was really smart when she realized you had to be a Jew to be Jewish). :-D It happens. Just goes to show I'm human. But guess, what: God still loves me no matter how silly I sound (or look).

Like I've told my small group girls: I'd much rather write about God and how amazing He is because that's easy. He doesn't want me to only thank because it's easy. He's thrown my way out of my comfort zone, but He hasn't left me there.

Do we see a trend? How many times now have a blogged about God pushing me out of my comfort zone but not leaving me there? You'd think I'd have learned by now...

<>< Katie

"For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation will be able to separate us from the love that is in Jesus Christ our Lord." Romans 8:38-39