In Which Creativity is Willed

It's late (or rather, early) and I'm still up.
I'm so tired.
But I want.
I want for more.
I sometimes think "oh, I'll write...what grace and untangling power seems to flow when I just write."
But then I think, "...what will I write?"
And I recall nights of prayer and seeking, the phone flashlight turned on, the ipod playing poetic songs through my worried mind, and the pen flying and gliding, resting and refreshing to my emotions as it swirled across the lined pages. Here, a lyric. There, a simple doodle. There, my own thought. Here, a more-attempted drawing or an idea of a sketch.
What beautiful times those were. Personal and lovely.

My mind returns to Phoenix on the wings of the melody that will not go away, no matter if I can't figure it out. Dreams that I still remember and grudges I'm not sure I've let go of but I'm certain were never called for. Hallelujah....hallelujah. They all ran to the front, the sea of potential rose and crested, flowing to the stage to proclaim, to set forth, to declare that they were their Lord's, and they would gladly go.
I stood back and let the grateful tears begin to fall. I was disappointed, but I was grateful. I began to understand and yet I didn't. I couldn't go, and I wasn't meant to yet. Was I ever?
I don't know.
But still, it rises up as hallelujah.
And still, Phoenix is one of my most cherished memories.
And still, it is beautiful.

A belated Thanksgiving day post? I am thankful for no.

Hurricane Fare

Below is the first meal my family ate after the power was knocked out by Sandy. I'm not meaning to brag or anything, either. This is another perk of living at home. My mom was utterly prepared in (amongst many more)  the way of having food, so much so that our first meal in the dark and the cold was hot, because she'd made and kept it in the crock pot. I am convinced that if we had been powerless for a lot longer than three hours, or even longer than three days, we would have done rather lovely, actually. Both my parents were thoroughly prepared for the storm. Through just that one thing, a crock pot meal, my mother's preparedness not only helped me  immediately, but I was given help for later. I've seen ways to prepare for terrible things carried out faithfully in front of me. I know how. If you're living at home, it's a good time to observe, ask, and store away things for later.

Firsts

1. I really did care about this election. Also, I voted in it.

2. We were watching the results of said election, and suddenly, Little G just took a few steps and toppled over. He repeated the feat for his father, then held back, suddenly bashful at all the outbursts of applause.

3. It's snowing right now. And it is beautiful.

4. I have an interest in going to the March for Life this year.

5. I can't think of a way to tie this in to the whole "living at home, two jobs, not in college" thing. Oh wait!

Ways this totally ties in:

1. I would've had to vote absentee in my first election if I was at college, probably.

2. I would NOT have witnessed my nephew's first steps.

3. I'm safe and warm in my parents' house and don't have to worry if I can pay MY heat bill. :/

4. I'm growing up. I'm starting to learn and decide what I truly believe in. And I am starting to try to quit my passivity.

5. I was being lazy 'cause I had a headache....but...that doesn't have to do with anything.

Deception

I raced down the driveway, full speed in my Goodwill-but-new green and blue plaid rain boots and my corduroy fall jacket, heading straight for the black mailbox at the end of our crescent driveway.

Out of shape and out of breath, I reached the mailbox in record time and pushed a stray strand of fading red hair behind my ear and flipped open the box.

Empty.

Without a second's pause, I raced right back up the driveway and swung into my living room, shouting quickly, "Nope!", before discarding my boots and placing myself back at my computer, still in the warm coat. After all, we still haven't turned the heat on.

It occurred to me that passersby might assume I was looking for a letter of acceptance.
It also occurred to me that I probably wouldn't mind the assumption.
No, bad Riah.