Ah, a beautiful Saturday - and I've spent the past day worried about the location of my cell phone; the last time I could remember using it was Wednesday night, outside of Borders - and I clearly recalled the replacement of said phone in my purse. However, yesterday, while I was in the car with Stacia (she was driving me back to Shannon's for a sleepover) and she asked me to call Shannon with it, I could not seem to find it in my purse. Thus my panic, which lasted all through last night and continued until about half an hour ago - after looking everywhere in the house, mind you - when I remembered that, on Thursday, Mrs. Reece had asked us to give her our cell phones during our dance exam. She placed them up by the white board, and we were supposed to grab them afterwards, but I must have forgotten. I am relieved, for I am sure that she will have spotted it and I will be able to retrieve it first thing Tuesday morning. I love long weekends.
So, I went over to Shannon's house last night, as did Elizabeth. We had a great time, and I learned two new card games - one that I didn't really like that much, and another called "Napoleon." The latter is interesting because it relies heavily on strategy; I plan on playing it with my dad and grandparents when they visit us here in North Carolina. Also on Saturday, I finally had the chance to meet and converse with the famous Charles, whom Shannon is dating. I give her my blessing, as he seems to be a respectful young fellow and what-not; we all played cards and watched part of "The Haunting in Connecticut" before I had to depart at 3:30 to return to my father's house.
On Friday night, I had an extremely odd dream. In the dream, everyone seemed to exist in a giant fishbowl filled with water, though everyone was breathing normally, we weren't fish or other water-dwelling creatures, and we weren't swimming - we were walking around as though in normal air. But, there was still the undeniable fact that, yes, the world was a fishbowl filled with water nonetheless.
My dad, Heather, Hope, and I were on vacation in the dream; I remember spending part of the dream in a ground floor hotel room that was non-descript, but for the fact that it opened out on this children's wonderland of a water park: there were tons of huge, interlacing, multi-colored slides and those bucket things that tip over unexpectedly and spill water on those who unknowingly dawdle beneath them for too long. Seated in chairs with ladders leading up to their great heights were four life-guards, surrounding the area of the water park. I recall one of the life-guards, the one closest to the entrance to our hotel room, being rather attractive (though he was the epitome of the life-guard stereotype, which I don't find attractive in real life). However, as I lounged on the sidewalk beside the entrance to our room, watching Hope and the other little kids frolick around, I realized that this life-guard was quite a jerk. He wore dark sunglasses (which I hate on life-guards, because if they blow their whistles, you can never tell who they're addressing), and would yell at kids for being too loud and for coming too close to his chair. He obviously hated children, and had no reason to be serving as a life-guard at a kids' water park. After watching for about an hour, I returned to the hotel room, where I found my dad sprawled on the floral-patterned bedspread of one of the double-beds, examining a map.
"What map are you looking at?" I asked him, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"New York City," he replied. "We're going to go there in a week for part of our vacation; plus, I have a meeting there with other people from work, so it's sort of a business trip as well."
I was really excited about going to New York (I've never been in real life). However, as we were packing our stuff and preparing to load the car, I woke up on Shannon's floor with an aching back.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Exam Day #2, Steinback, and Due Date Dream
Rarely do I put commas in the title of my blog posts unless I have had an extraordinary sort of day, which, in this case, I have. We took our sixth period "exams" today; this meant that I had to present my community service paper for Life Management Skills. Our time in this class is officially concluded, and I look forward to starting Biology next week. The presentation of the papers took about 45 minutes tops, and we had about an hour before lunch, so I sat, listening to Bach and reading The Grapes of Wrath to pass the time. It was after lunch that the most significant part of the day occured. We had another hour in sixth period, and so I was reading some more of The Grapes of Wrath; my excitement increased as I came to page 615: I was nearly there! And then, ten minutes before class ended, I did it - 619 pages of Steinback, completed. I recall setting the book down, exhaling deeply, and informing Harrison, who sits to my left, of my success.
For those who haven't read The Grapes of Wrath, it is ten times the read of Of Mice and Men, in quality and of course in length - that is my humble opinion, of course. Don't expect an oh-all-the-conflict's-resolved-now sort of ending. I won't reveal the ending to those who haven't read it, as my mother did for me (I didn't believe her at first; I made her check the book to be certain, telling her that she would have a messed-up mind if she had simply imagined this ending). So, happy reading for those who are willing to take up the challenge!
Last, I had an extremely odd dream last night. It had a stressful air about it, possibly because I recall the date in the dream being May the 3rd, or to clarify, the predicted delivery date of my soon-to-be little sister (by my mother; oh, and this is the date in real life as well). In the dream, I was bustling around my mother's house in the early morning, getting ready for school, when I looked at the calendar and noticed the date. I approached my mother, who was preparing my lunch as usual in the kitchen, and inquired about how she felt.
"I think the baby'll be late," she said wisely, "I don't feel anything now."
Not reassured, I allowed her to drop me off at school, making her promise that if she felt birthing pains, she was to call me on my cell phone, and I would leave school to drive her to the hospital (because I could apparently drive in the dream).
For some reason, Mr. Friedman was my day-long teacher (I haven't even had him yet for Seminar-in-the-Arts) - and he taught every subject, though I barely paid attention due to my anxiety. At one point, in the middle of the day, I was reprimanded for pulling out my cell phone to check to see if my mother had called yet. She had not.
Somewhere around this part of the dream, I seemed to forget what I was dreaming about, and I found myself sitting at the piano beside my mother, who pulled from beneath the bench a booklet containing a piano sonata of Beethoven; she opened it, bent the spine back a bit so that it would stay open, and placed it on the stand. The sheet music, as I recall, did not look insanely difficult, and my mother said, "Perhaps I'll be able to play this." she began to play, somehow sight-reading effortlessly with no experience on the piano. After watching her play the first page, I decided to give it a shot; I somehow forgot all of the notes and their locations on the instrument relative to where they fell on the sheet music. I struggled and fumbled, growing increasingly impatient with myself, before the dream changed back again to the school setting. It was the end of the day, and everyone headed either to the parking lot or to the bus lot; I headed in the direction of the parking lot, where I was intercepted by Elizabeth E, who said, "Are you still coming over for a sleep-over tonight?" I didn't recall making plans with her in the dream, but she insisted that we had, and so I had no choice but to follow her to where her dad sat waiting in his roofless car. My hair billowed behind me as we drove far out of town, much further than Shannon's house's location in Clemmons. "Did you guys move or something?" I asked, stressed out about the prospect of trying to find my way back into town in time if my mother called with news of her birthing pains.
"We did, actually." Mr. Eppley said. "We found this nice little place on the far side of Yadkinville."
Inhaling, I pulled out my phone one more time to see if my mother had called. She had not. However, for the rest of the dream, which I cannot quite remember, there was this overhanging air of anxiety, as I waited for my mother to call.
For those who haven't read The Grapes of Wrath, it is ten times the read of Of Mice and Men, in quality and of course in length - that is my humble opinion, of course. Don't expect an oh-all-the-conflict's-resolved-now sort of ending. I won't reveal the ending to those who haven't read it, as my mother did for me (I didn't believe her at first; I made her check the book to be certain, telling her that she would have a messed-up mind if she had simply imagined this ending). So, happy reading for those who are willing to take up the challenge!
Last, I had an extremely odd dream last night. It had a stressful air about it, possibly because I recall the date in the dream being May the 3rd, or to clarify, the predicted delivery date of my soon-to-be little sister (by my mother; oh, and this is the date in real life as well). In the dream, I was bustling around my mother's house in the early morning, getting ready for school, when I looked at the calendar and noticed the date. I approached my mother, who was preparing my lunch as usual in the kitchen, and inquired about how she felt.
"I think the baby'll be late," she said wisely, "I don't feel anything now."
Not reassured, I allowed her to drop me off at school, making her promise that if she felt birthing pains, she was to call me on my cell phone, and I would leave school to drive her to the hospital (because I could apparently drive in the dream).
For some reason, Mr. Friedman was my day-long teacher (I haven't even had him yet for Seminar-in-the-Arts) - and he taught every subject, though I barely paid attention due to my anxiety. At one point, in the middle of the day, I was reprimanded for pulling out my cell phone to check to see if my mother had called yet. She had not.
Somewhere around this part of the dream, I seemed to forget what I was dreaming about, and I found myself sitting at the piano beside my mother, who pulled from beneath the bench a booklet containing a piano sonata of Beethoven; she opened it, bent the spine back a bit so that it would stay open, and placed it on the stand. The sheet music, as I recall, did not look insanely difficult, and my mother said, "Perhaps I'll be able to play this." she began to play, somehow sight-reading effortlessly with no experience on the piano. After watching her play the first page, I decided to give it a shot; I somehow forgot all of the notes and their locations on the instrument relative to where they fell on the sheet music. I struggled and fumbled, growing increasingly impatient with myself, before the dream changed back again to the school setting. It was the end of the day, and everyone headed either to the parking lot or to the bus lot; I headed in the direction of the parking lot, where I was intercepted by Elizabeth E, who said, "Are you still coming over for a sleep-over tonight?" I didn't recall making plans with her in the dream, but she insisted that we had, and so I had no choice but to follow her to where her dad sat waiting in his roofless car. My hair billowed behind me as we drove far out of town, much further than Shannon's house's location in Clemmons. "Did you guys move or something?" I asked, stressed out about the prospect of trying to find my way back into town in time if my mother called with news of her birthing pains.
"We did, actually." Mr. Eppley said. "We found this nice little place on the far side of Yadkinville."
Inhaling, I pulled out my phone one more time to see if my mother had called. She had not. However, for the rest of the dream, which I cannot quite remember, there was this overhanging air of anxiety, as I waited for my mother to call.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Fred Astaire and Other News
So, my dad and I just got back from this cycling thing at the YMCA, and I feel like a piece of jello. However, I have come on here because I was at my mom's house last week and had an eventful dream that I've looked forward to reporting all this time.
I had this dream on Tuesday, I'm fairly certain. It consisted entirely of a conversation with my mother; she was venting, talking in circles as she usually does when she vents, and the object of her frustration was Fred Astaire, the famous dancer. In the dream, they were good friends, and both were the same age (which would put us back in the 1930's or so, but the setting wasn't very important in the dream). I was playing the piano when she turned the knob of the front door, returning inside after a walk with Bear in the neighborhood. She looked distinctly ruffled.
"What's up?" I asked as she opened her mouth to speak.
She shook her head, tight-lipped, replacing the leash on top of the piano. "I just can't believe it." she finally said, slowly.
"What?"
"Lisa down the street just told me that Fred - you remember him, right? We went to his concert a while back, he gave us free tickets - she told me that Fred's getting married! And he didn't tell me!"
"Oh." I said, somehow expecting something slightly more important. "How long's he been engaged?"
"Well, according to Lisa, five months. Their wedding's this Saturday. I can't believe this! I talked to him on the phone just the other day and -"
"Wait a second." I said. "This Saturday? Who's he marrying?"
"Hmm," my mom thought, fuming. "Some Japanese woman with a French name, Palais something. . .can't remember the surname. But I s'pose she's going to be Palais Astaire in a few days - and Fred didn't even invite us to the wedding!!!"
I stood up from the bench and walked over to comfort my mother. "It's okay," I consoled her, "If he didn't even have the decency to tell his best friend, then he's not worth worrying about."
She took the consolation well. Starting to walk to the other room with a new bounce in her step, she said, "Yeah, what an @$$hole - won't be calling to chat with him anytime soon." And this is about where the dream ended.
Last night, I was at Borders, reading a book by Carl Jung about dreams; he agrees with Freud about dreams being the manifestation of suppressed desires. As far as suppressed desires apply to the above dream. . .hmm. . .enlighten me, Mr. Jung. In any case, I figure that I'll sign off now and get into the shower.
I had this dream on Tuesday, I'm fairly certain. It consisted entirely of a conversation with my mother; she was venting, talking in circles as she usually does when she vents, and the object of her frustration was Fred Astaire, the famous dancer. In the dream, they were good friends, and both were the same age (which would put us back in the 1930's or so, but the setting wasn't very important in the dream). I was playing the piano when she turned the knob of the front door, returning inside after a walk with Bear in the neighborhood. She looked distinctly ruffled.
"What's up?" I asked as she opened her mouth to speak.
She shook her head, tight-lipped, replacing the leash on top of the piano. "I just can't believe it." she finally said, slowly.
"What?"
"Lisa down the street just told me that Fred - you remember him, right? We went to his concert a while back, he gave us free tickets - she told me that Fred's getting married! And he didn't tell me!"
"Oh." I said, somehow expecting something slightly more important. "How long's he been engaged?"
"Well, according to Lisa, five months. Their wedding's this Saturday. I can't believe this! I talked to him on the phone just the other day and -"
"Wait a second." I said. "This Saturday? Who's he marrying?"
"Hmm," my mom thought, fuming. "Some Japanese woman with a French name, Palais something. . .can't remember the surname. But I s'pose she's going to be Palais Astaire in a few days - and Fred didn't even invite us to the wedding!!!"
I stood up from the bench and walked over to comfort my mother. "It's okay," I consoled her, "If he didn't even have the decency to tell his best friend, then he's not worth worrying about."
She took the consolation well. Starting to walk to the other room with a new bounce in her step, she said, "Yeah, what an @$$hole - won't be calling to chat with him anytime soon." And this is about where the dream ended.
Last night, I was at Borders, reading a book by Carl Jung about dreams; he agrees with Freud about dreams being the manifestation of suppressed desires. As far as suppressed desires apply to the above dream. . .hmm. . .enlighten me, Mr. Jung. In any case, I figure that I'll sign off now and get into the shower.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
A Thought I've Just Had
So, I'm sitting here, listening to the 24 minutes of the first part of Beethoven's Third or "Eroica" Symphony; it is referenced in The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, and so I wanted to hear it in its entirety. It's really pretty. But in any case, the thought I had came to me as I was watching a few seconds of the video (I'm viewing/listening to it on Youtube). The greatest part of watching live classical music is probably either observing the synchronized movements of the musicians, or the passion of the conductor; like in these Youtube videos, they give close-up footage of the contortions of his face and style of conducting as he leads his orchestra. And that adds to the asthestic elements of a performance, in my opinion. So, watching him (Herbert von Karajan, I think, is his name), I came to this conclusion: There's nothing more beautiful than the face of a man immersed in his art. It does not just apply to conductors, obviously; another great example is a pianist, whom I've also come across on Youtube, by the name of Mitsuko Uchida (I think; my spelling might not be correct). I checked myself with a video of her performance of the second movement of Mozart's K. 545 Sonata. One can simply tell from her expressions how passionate she is about her art (and she's a great pianist). Well, anyways, in a few minutes, I'm going to leave to go perform with the Worship Team (I'm playing the drums), so I will leave you with my musical musings.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Two Weird Dreams
So, I had the first Harry Potter dream of the new year, though that wasn't the only one from last night; let me preface by saying that I slept terribly. It's been so dry lately (since we have to keep the heat on full blast) that it's become impossible to breathe out of my nose. So, breathing out of my mouth, I woke to find that there was no moisture left in my mouth or throat, and my tongue tasted bad. I kept waking up and thinking, "I ought to go to the bathroom (since it's right across the hall) and drink some water," but something, most likely laziness, preventing me from ever getting up and doing this task.
Well, moving on - to the dreams. In the first dream, my dad and I were visiting my grandparents at their condo in Atlanta, though the lay-out of it was quite different. The mirrored walls that surround the dining room in real life were all over the house except for in the non-existent guest bedroom, where I stayed in the dream and where the keyboard was plugged in for my amusement; in here, the walls were paneled in oak. In the dream, I sat on the piano bench, trying to play the Chopin that I've been learning; my dad banged around in the kitchen on the far side of the building, in a bad mood for some reason that I don't remember (I think that it had something to do with conflict between my grandparents, but this part of the dream is hazy in my memory).
As I sat there, horsing around (I've always wanted to use that phrase in writing - thank you, Mr. Caulfield), someone entered through the door on the left of the piano, on the same wall. It was Talia, whom I used to go to school with but who now goes to West; she carried some books of sheet music on her arm. I stood up as she entered and she immediately moved to sit down at the piano and play; we spoke a little, but there seemed to be no confusion on my part about why she was in Atlanta, in my grandparents' condo, playing their piano. We chatted about the various things that we did over the summer (I'm not sure what time of year it was in the dream) and suddenly, she broke off, masterfully playing a piece of music by memory that I recognized as being by Mozart. Slightly irritated at this point, I sat down on the edge of the bench and said, "Ah; I've learned some Mozart over the summer as well." Then I began to play the "K. 545 Sonata," Second Movement. She stood and watched for a few seconds, before cutting me off and gossiping about something that happened at West (Talia, if you read this, don't take it personally - I know you don't do this sort of thing in real life).
Then the dream changed, and I found myself being jostled about by a crowd of faceless tourists; I could hear the roar of the ocean on my left and catch a glimpse of it lashing beneath the night sky. In this dream, my company consisted of Elisabeth, and I spoke to her excitedly as we followed the crowd of people into a dark opening in the rock on our right.
"Do you think that they've preserved the boat and everything?" I gushed.
She was wearing a conservative, black dress, her hair was in a bun, and her face was drawn tight in professional musing. "I don't know," she murmured distractedly as we waded through the shallow water of the cave, "It would be poor maintenance on their part if it was destroyed."
It seemed as though the cave from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince was open as a tourist attraction. We entered the cavernous room in which the horcrux was hidden in the book, with its perimeter of a small, rocky shore and its island in the center of the vast, black body of what would have been sinister, Inferi-infested water. Now, the water was cleared of the dead it had once harbored, and people crowded with cameras and loud children around the walls, pointing, touching, observing. Elisabeth walked around the right edge of the black pool until we came to the place where we somehow knew the boat would be. It rose silently from the water, we climbed aboard, and rode across to the center island. Lit with decorative lamps, the island was not at all what I imagined it to be in the book; at the center, to replace the cauldron that would have held the potion Dumbledore was forced to drink, there was an old, engraved wooden chest with clasps in the shape of angels. Approaching it, we opened the clasps and peered inside, only to find a wooden imitation of what the horcrux (Voldemort's mother's locket) would have looked like. My disappointment must have showed, for Elisabeth said, "You can't be too disappointed. I mean, you knew that it wouldn't be here." I sighed, nodded to acknowledge the validity of her statement, and followed her back to the boat. As we were traveling back to the open air, I woke up because I was having difficulties breathing through the dryness of my lips and throat.
Well, moving on - to the dreams. In the first dream, my dad and I were visiting my grandparents at their condo in Atlanta, though the lay-out of it was quite different. The mirrored walls that surround the dining room in real life were all over the house except for in the non-existent guest bedroom, where I stayed in the dream and where the keyboard was plugged in for my amusement; in here, the walls were paneled in oak. In the dream, I sat on the piano bench, trying to play the Chopin that I've been learning; my dad banged around in the kitchen on the far side of the building, in a bad mood for some reason that I don't remember (I think that it had something to do with conflict between my grandparents, but this part of the dream is hazy in my memory).
As I sat there, horsing around (I've always wanted to use that phrase in writing - thank you, Mr. Caulfield), someone entered through the door on the left of the piano, on the same wall. It was Talia, whom I used to go to school with but who now goes to West; she carried some books of sheet music on her arm. I stood up as she entered and she immediately moved to sit down at the piano and play; we spoke a little, but there seemed to be no confusion on my part about why she was in Atlanta, in my grandparents' condo, playing their piano. We chatted about the various things that we did over the summer (I'm not sure what time of year it was in the dream) and suddenly, she broke off, masterfully playing a piece of music by memory that I recognized as being by Mozart. Slightly irritated at this point, I sat down on the edge of the bench and said, "Ah; I've learned some Mozart over the summer as well." Then I began to play the "K. 545 Sonata," Second Movement. She stood and watched for a few seconds, before cutting me off and gossiping about something that happened at West (Talia, if you read this, don't take it personally - I know you don't do this sort of thing in real life).
Then the dream changed, and I found myself being jostled about by a crowd of faceless tourists; I could hear the roar of the ocean on my left and catch a glimpse of it lashing beneath the night sky. In this dream, my company consisted of Elisabeth, and I spoke to her excitedly as we followed the crowd of people into a dark opening in the rock on our right.
"Do you think that they've preserved the boat and everything?" I gushed.
She was wearing a conservative, black dress, her hair was in a bun, and her face was drawn tight in professional musing. "I don't know," she murmured distractedly as we waded through the shallow water of the cave, "It would be poor maintenance on their part if it was destroyed."
It seemed as though the cave from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince was open as a tourist attraction. We entered the cavernous room in which the horcrux was hidden in the book, with its perimeter of a small, rocky shore and its island in the center of the vast, black body of what would have been sinister, Inferi-infested water. Now, the water was cleared of the dead it had once harbored, and people crowded with cameras and loud children around the walls, pointing, touching, observing. Elisabeth walked around the right edge of the black pool until we came to the place where we somehow knew the boat would be. It rose silently from the water, we climbed aboard, and rode across to the center island. Lit with decorative lamps, the island was not at all what I imagined it to be in the book; at the center, to replace the cauldron that would have held the potion Dumbledore was forced to drink, there was an old, engraved wooden chest with clasps in the shape of angels. Approaching it, we opened the clasps and peered inside, only to find a wooden imitation of what the horcrux (Voldemort's mother's locket) would have looked like. My disappointment must have showed, for Elisabeth said, "You can't be too disappointed. I mean, you knew that it wouldn't be here." I sighed, nodded to acknowledge the validity of her statement, and followed her back to the boat. As we were traveling back to the open air, I woke up because I was having difficulties breathing through the dryness of my lips and throat.
Monday, January 4, 2010
2010
So, this is the new year. Absorb my enthusiasm for a moment; unlike any other year that I can recall, this year rang in without feeling much like a new year at all. Is this a good thing? I'm not certain.
December 31 was, as I recall, a Thursday, one of the last few days of our winter break. I woke up late, at my mom's house, as I'd been doing for the past week or so (my mom had been working mornings for most of the week). That night, we were going to go to the "Cirque de la Symphonie" performance, which I hear was really awesome, but I had read two weeks previously that tickets were nearly sold out. So I figured last-minute that it probably wouldn't be worth going, because we would likely get a crappy balcony seat with a terrible view. And of course, the view would be rather important. So, when my mom got home from work that night, I related this news to her, and she and Wesley were perfectly fine with the prospect of doing something else; for dinner, we drove over to Olive Garden, only to find that it was congested with New Year's Eve celebrators. So, we went to KFC instead, and Wesley made the man behind the counter laugh with some corny joke like, "Well, this is the last time we're coming to eat here all year." He kept making jokes like that throughout the meal, addressed to me, and being the ditzy person that I am, it took me about an hour before I started to catch on; in response, I would keep saying things like, "All year? What's wrong with. . .(whatever we wouldn't do until the new year)?"
After dinner, we drove home and watched a movie that we rented from the hot guy movie store (I think it was "9," the Tim Burton movie). Then, my mom and I went to my room, where we planned to listen to this Bill Hicks comedy recording that I happened to have on my iPod for some reason, I suppose because I allowed the computer to auto-sync songs to my iPod. Wesley came in to inform us that the ball was going to drop in precisely one minute. We paused the comedy, and instead of going out to the living room to watch the ball drop, as we usually do, we just sat on my bed until it was midnight, and then Wesley left the room again. We exchanged, "Happy New Year's" before my mom fell asleep in the middle of the comedian's routine. It was rather amusing; I laughed out loud a few times. After it was over, I woke her up, helped her over to her own bed, and then went to sleep myself - with the aid of the awesomeness that is Beethoven's "Larghetto" movement of his Second Symphony. This cd, "Beethoven at Bedtime," along with "Mozart: The Greatest Hits" (which has two disks) was my Christmas gift from Wesley. They're both amazing. I got many other amazing gifts over the holiday that I don't have the time nor patience to discuss.
For most of the holiday, I was in Atlanta with my father, visiting his side of the family. We celebrated Christmas at my Aunt Kirsten's house, and I got to watch my 6 and 3 year old cousins (Nathan and Keira) open their gifts, which was a treat. At night, we went over to my grandparents' condo to open the rest of our presents and have a delicious Christmas dinner that featured some rather tasty ham. During this second gift opening, an amusing incident occurred: my cousin Nathan had mentioned to me a few days previously that he was looking forward to receiving a "Space Police" themed Legos set from Santa Claus. Well, everyone held their breath when he opened it at the condo. He hungrily peeled off and discarded the paper, and then there was a deep silence as he read the writing on his gift and tried to see what it was. When he realized that it was what he asked for, he set it on the ground, leaned over as though in prayer, and then jumped high into the air with a victorious, "Yaaaay!" It was the moment of the night.
After the present-opening, the kids grew tired, and so my dad and I departed to see "Sherlock Holmes" at this movie theater in the mall (I didn't even know that they put movie theaters in malls until we went to Atlanta for the first time a few years ago). The movie was pretty good; it's hard to judge, though, not having read anything of Arthur Conan Doyle's before now. However, seeing the movie has made me want to read at least one of the books, though this will not be accomplished until I have finished reading The Grapes of Wrath and The Sound and the Fury, not to mention the nine or ten other books that I received for Christmas. I'll get to you eventually, Mr. Doyle.
So, when we came back to Winston-Salem, the Saturday after Christmas, I celebrated a second Christmas at my mom's house when she got home from work. I also stayed at her house for the last week of break, during which we played four games of Scrabble (all of which I won). Saoirse and Kiki accompanied us during one such game, and then we all rented "500 Days of Summer" from Curious George, a movie which was super-amazing. If you liked "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and "Amelie," then you will like this movie.
Then, besides the dream that I had this past week that my French class went on a field trip to France (during which Ms. Matisko decided to show us around the suburban neighborhoods and try to make us admire the various colors of vinyl siding), those are about the only things of event that have happened since the beginning of Christmas break.
December 31 was, as I recall, a Thursday, one of the last few days of our winter break. I woke up late, at my mom's house, as I'd been doing for the past week or so (my mom had been working mornings for most of the week). That night, we were going to go to the "Cirque de la Symphonie" performance, which I hear was really awesome, but I had read two weeks previously that tickets were nearly sold out. So I figured last-minute that it probably wouldn't be worth going, because we would likely get a crappy balcony seat with a terrible view. And of course, the view would be rather important. So, when my mom got home from work that night, I related this news to her, and she and Wesley were perfectly fine with the prospect of doing something else; for dinner, we drove over to Olive Garden, only to find that it was congested with New Year's Eve celebrators. So, we went to KFC instead, and Wesley made the man behind the counter laugh with some corny joke like, "Well, this is the last time we're coming to eat here all year." He kept making jokes like that throughout the meal, addressed to me, and being the ditzy person that I am, it took me about an hour before I started to catch on; in response, I would keep saying things like, "All year? What's wrong with. . .(whatever we wouldn't do until the new year)?"
After dinner, we drove home and watched a movie that we rented from the hot guy movie store (I think it was "9," the Tim Burton movie). Then, my mom and I went to my room, where we planned to listen to this Bill Hicks comedy recording that I happened to have on my iPod for some reason, I suppose because I allowed the computer to auto-sync songs to my iPod. Wesley came in to inform us that the ball was going to drop in precisely one minute. We paused the comedy, and instead of going out to the living room to watch the ball drop, as we usually do, we just sat on my bed until it was midnight, and then Wesley left the room again. We exchanged, "Happy New Year's" before my mom fell asleep in the middle of the comedian's routine. It was rather amusing; I laughed out loud a few times. After it was over, I woke her up, helped her over to her own bed, and then went to sleep myself - with the aid of the awesomeness that is Beethoven's "Larghetto" movement of his Second Symphony. This cd, "Beethoven at Bedtime," along with "Mozart: The Greatest Hits" (which has two disks) was my Christmas gift from Wesley. They're both amazing. I got many other amazing gifts over the holiday that I don't have the time nor patience to discuss.
For most of the holiday, I was in Atlanta with my father, visiting his side of the family. We celebrated Christmas at my Aunt Kirsten's house, and I got to watch my 6 and 3 year old cousins (Nathan and Keira) open their gifts, which was a treat. At night, we went over to my grandparents' condo to open the rest of our presents and have a delicious Christmas dinner that featured some rather tasty ham. During this second gift opening, an amusing incident occurred: my cousin Nathan had mentioned to me a few days previously that he was looking forward to receiving a "Space Police" themed Legos set from Santa Claus. Well, everyone held their breath when he opened it at the condo. He hungrily peeled off and discarded the paper, and then there was a deep silence as he read the writing on his gift and tried to see what it was. When he realized that it was what he asked for, he set it on the ground, leaned over as though in prayer, and then jumped high into the air with a victorious, "Yaaaay!" It was the moment of the night.
After the present-opening, the kids grew tired, and so my dad and I departed to see "Sherlock Holmes" at this movie theater in the mall (I didn't even know that they put movie theaters in malls until we went to Atlanta for the first time a few years ago). The movie was pretty good; it's hard to judge, though, not having read anything of Arthur Conan Doyle's before now. However, seeing the movie has made me want to read at least one of the books, though this will not be accomplished until I have finished reading The Grapes of Wrath and The Sound and the Fury, not to mention the nine or ten other books that I received for Christmas. I'll get to you eventually, Mr. Doyle.
So, when we came back to Winston-Salem, the Saturday after Christmas, I celebrated a second Christmas at my mom's house when she got home from work. I also stayed at her house for the last week of break, during which we played four games of Scrabble (all of which I won). Saoirse and Kiki accompanied us during one such game, and then we all rented "500 Days of Summer" from Curious George, a movie which was super-amazing. If you liked "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and "Amelie," then you will like this movie.
Then, besides the dream that I had this past week that my French class went on a field trip to France (during which Ms. Matisko decided to show us around the suburban neighborhoods and try to make us admire the various colors of vinyl siding), those are about the only things of event that have happened since the beginning of Christmas break.
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