Look At These Neat Things!

Here's a blurry little video of me enjoying the wonderful motion-sensing Traveler's Insurance ads in the Minneapolis airport.

How I am (Finally) Feeling.

What can we call this feeling I'm feeling? This revelation of light after a forever of darkness; this first breath after a coma of restless loneliness. I tried to find a most excellent word for such an excellent feeling, but after much contemplating, I still wasn't able to find one. For the majority of this school year I've felt rather trapped, distant, and lonely. But with this time away from the chaos and turbulence of every day life, my exhausted heart has had time to rest, heal old hurts, and become its own again. Yesterday I felt the distict moment I had been subconciously waiting for. In that moment, I accepted the things that I had been denying about my life and who I was to be, I let go of the forced hope for a plan that may not be right, and something inside said to me softly; "Go on." Suddenly, I found myself thinking about the possibilities that lie ahead, rather than willing my way upon my future. I sat in the backseat of a silver car, driving through suburbia as I thought these wonderful thoughts, and smiled from my insides out. What a superb feeling with which to begin a new year. We could call this feeling hope, we could call it happiness, but really, I don't think a word exists that describes it entirely. But that's alright, a feeling this marvelous doesn't require a name, it requires only that we let it make us better.

Beige Everything and Business Centers

When I go outside and turn in a circle, I can find no mountains. Instead, I see buildings that sit heavily on the dead ground like enormous landlocked ships. When I look for color, I most often find beige. Beige houses, beige houses, beige grass. Worst. Color. Ever. Where am I? Minneapolis, Minnesota. I guess if I had grown up here, I wouldn't notice it, but since I live in under the big sky, the contrast is a stark one. As we drive around, my gramma tells us what cities we are in. How can one tell? There is NO space between towns; they all just run together like a big cluttery mess of malls and cars and "Business Centers." It's completely overwhelming. Luckily, I have the relative peace of Gramma's house to retreat to. Gramma's house is an oasis of food and boredom, where I have my own little room furnished with the senior high pictures of my mom and all her siblings. Tonight for dinner we ate Chicken Delight, a true midwestern dish, the main ingredients of which are: Velveeta cheese, broccoli, stuffing, chicken, and french fried onions from a tin. It was absolutely delicious; a big cheesy casserole of comfort. Tomorrow the girl cousins and I are taking on MOA. Mall. Of. America. On the front page of yesterdays newspaper there was an article announcing that a 200 person fight/riot/brawl/shoplifting spree had broken out at that very place just the day before, and here I am, going there voluntarily. What is this madness? All for jeans that make my rear end look fabulous. Well, maybe. I might get trampled to death before I can do anything about it. Being here makes me realize even more how amazing home is. Suburbia isn't my kind of place. I can't wait to breath in some fresh mountain air and look at the horses and cows as I drive the back roads.

Christmas Is Here Again

No other time of the year holds quite as much joy for me as the Christmas season. My heart fills up with love and I participate in every quintessential Christmas activity, from baking cookies to going caroling to walking in winter wonderlands. I love it all.  On the very day after Thanksgiving each year, I declare it to be Christmas time, and my family and I climb into the minivan together and drive to wherever I believe has the best and most Christmas-y Christmas trees available. We take the tree home, I make Walter pull the decorations from under the house, (the spiders under there are to big for me to do it) and then drive me into town to replace the lights that have stopped working. Then I pop in some Christmas tunes and decorate the tree like an elf on triple-shot espresso, smiling my face off the whole time. I love unpacking the ornaments, because when I lift each one out of the shredded newspaper packing it's like picking up a piece of my childhood and hanging it up to remind me of the happiest times of my life. Even the smells have stayed the same throughout my life; pine, potpourri, dust, and one other smell that I can't place. My brain just tells me it's the smell of winter. After the lights and ornaments comes The Star  We bought The Star before I can remember. We went to the store and let Walter pick it out when he was three. It's tinsel-y and gold, with lights that flash on and off when it's plugged in. We've been meaning to retire the star for years, it's missing several pieces and it's just kind of ugly. One year I accidentally chopped through the chord when I was trimming the top pieces of the tree. But duct tape can mend anything, and since we can't seem to get rid of it, there it blinks, year after year, becoming consecutively uglier with each passing Christmas...but I love it. The Funke family Christmas tree wouldn't be complete without it.
Now that the tree has been up for weeks, yesterday was finally, FINALLY the last day of school before Christmas break. Today I woke up well rested and ridiculously happy when I discovered the quiet blanket of snow falling outside. Right now I'm waiting for the cookie dough to chill in the fridge so that I can make the same sugar cookie cut-outs I've made for my entire life. Some other plans that I have include, but aren't limited to: sledding, visiting relatives in Minnesota, working in Sunday school at  the Christmas Eve service, spending time with my great family, and making them listen to me read Twas The Night Before Christmas on Christmas Eve. I decided the classic Christmas poem should become a tradition a few years ago, and even if everyone else could do without it, I adore it, and can practically quote the poem off the top of my head. I'm not sure why Christmas means all that it does to me. I don't know how I can listen to Christmas music on every day of December and not grow the least bit tired of it, and I don't know why I can't seem to have this many consecutive cheerful days any other time of the year. It's just the way things are. So, whether you feel the way I do about the holidays or don't really care for them at all, let me just be cliché with you for a moment; the holiday season is much more than it's commercial hype. It's a time to be bright, and make the days of others memorable, and a time to define the terms "blessed," "generous," and "grateful" in our lives. Whether you're be celebrating Christmas, Hanukkah, Saturnalia, Boxing day, or Kwanzaa, party it up and make it count. Happy holidays and Merry Christmas!

Let's Be Thankful, Let's Be Glad

Thanksgiving is one of my all-time favorite holidays. Not only the actual day, but the days leading up to it, the mood surrounding it, and the way people treat their world around this time. People appreciate more, and think optimistically. Today I woke up ready for a day of baking and cooking, excited to be able to wear pajamas and no makeup for the entire day. I shuffled out to the kitchen, drank several cups of green tea, ate two eggs, and got to work. The first project on my list was the divine pumpkin-orange cheese cake with a chocolate crust and salted caramel topping. Other than a wrestling match against 3 packs of cream cheese and the mixer, it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. Something I found out, though: if you want to be thin, DON'T you dare try this recipe. I ended up eating some of the raw filling with a wooden spoon, right out of the mixing bowl. After the cheese cake adventure, I tackled the apple pie from scratch. I had never made a pastry crust, but after yelling, kneading, and A LOT of butter, I had made a fairly decent crust. I mixed up the apple filling, using the secret recipe I use every year, and ended up eating some of that as well. Once I had slit and fluted the top, it went into the oven, and the house started smelling like heaven, just like it does every year. Originally, the cheese cake and the pie were my only two missions for the day, but when I got up this morning, my mom announced in a sad, raspy voice that she had strep throat and that she was going to the doctor in an hour. Since she felt like garbage, Walter and I volunteered to prepare the 22 pound turkey so that she could rest. My brother and I actually did a pretty spectacular job, if I do say so. He cleaned out the giblets and did all the gross stuff while I prepared herb butter and chopped onions and garlic. We put the herb butter under the skin, which made me want to vomit all over the kitchen, and then we filled the cavity with the onions and garlic. I put the spiced on the top and we put it in the roasting bag and into the oven. We were a turkey-tackling team, I think we may have formed a new tradition in the process. The turkey turned out magnificently. My mom and I were also planning to run in Huffing for Stuffing, the Thanksgiving 5k run, but since she obviously is in no shape to do that now, Walter and I are doing that together as well. It's probably our last year of both of us kids living at home, and so I'm happy that we're spending this time together. To me, Thanksgiving is a time to acknowledge whats surrounds us in the present moment. In a year, my life, your life, and everyone elses lives will be radically different. We'll each look back a year from now and remember what we were thankful for. Think of the people you love, the places that are close to  your heart, and the memories that you treasure. If you're feeling particularly bold, tell those people that you are thankful for them. I know that no matter how little I knew a person, if they told me that they were thankful for me, my life would brighten by several watts. When I look back on this year, I will remember what I was thankful for at this time; Campbells soup, wool socks, my family, prayers for peace, thrift store pajamas, a healthy life, Saturdays, the experiences that shape my life, new friends, tiny origami elephants, the Rocky theme song, adventures, and most of all, hope. Never take hopefulness for granted, people. Be thankful, be generous, hug someone, and eat too much pie tomorrow.  -mads

When Life Does Not Waltz

I don't have any potent life lessons. I don't have any revelations. I have no wordy, long-winded sermons on anything of meaning. Not right now at least. To be quite candid, my life is not shining with the brilliant luster that I wish it was. It is quiet, subdued, and every piece of me is hungry for some terrific adventure that I cannot find. I could tell you all to Live-in-the-moment, and make every bit of your life extraordinary, and while I might say it some other time, right now I just can't give advice that I'm not living out. I spend a good part of my nights at home, wearing a Snuggie and practically drowning myself in herbal tea. I sometimes wear mittens while I'm inside, because my hands are perpetually cold and I don't like turning the heat up. I look at pictures of food that I won't let myself eat. I go on monotonous runs through a nearby suburb, and eat canned soup for dinner. My motivation is far smaller than any of the things I should be doing, and as a result I waste a lot of time. I'm not proud of it, and I'm trying to make my moments count, but it's so difficult right now. Sometimes it's so easy, beautiful memories form effortlessly and time waltzes to a smooth melody. Now is not one of those times in my life. Time doesn't waltz, it plods, and no matter how slow they seem, many of the days in each month are hazy and blurred, as if they went by too fast for me to use. However, whether it's true or not, I've come to believe that sometimes things have to be like this, in order for greater things to take shape. Life must rest, just like people must rest, before charging into brave new adventures. If you feel like I do, if you relate to anything that I've written here, than you probably know what a scary feeling it is to feel purposeless, even for a short period of time. But fear not. We'll get through it. Hope for adventure, pray for purpose, work for peace. 
-mads

Letting Go and Moving On

As I've come to learn, partially from my own experience and partially from the words of some very wise friends,  dwelling in your past can stall the progress you hope to attain in the future. I understand, dwelling is easy, it requires no effort, no ambition, only the playback button on the faulty video camera that is our memory. Letting go and moving on are often painful, gut wrenching, and even frightening. What will we be when that relationship, that experience, or that season of our life is over? Will we change? Will there ever be anything that makes us feel the same way again? Worst of all, will the memories fade if we choose to let them go? Contrary to popular belief, letting go is not just a miserable time in which you give up, and wait around for that broken heart to slowly scab and eventually scar. In fact, letting go requires time and effort. Tons of it. Life in general is painful, even without the struggle to move on from a momentous event, so if you're struggling to let go and move on, here's what I have to say:
It happened, it was incredible, and your life was changed, but now it's over. And that's ok. A crucial part of letting go or moving on is the acceptance that it is over. You know that wonderful Hallmark-y saying? "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened." Though it may sound corny, it is true. It took me the longest time to figure that one out, and actually live it rather that repeat it like a mantra. If you are afraid of your memories fading, either write them down, or trust that your brain will cherish the most important ones for when you need them most. Next, you need to learn that while you may be tied to that event, and it is a part of you, you are not simply a part of it. You have bigger dreams, a thoroughly interesting future, and a complex life. You continue to exist and build your life even when it seems like the best part of it is over. Fret not, there will be other best parts of your life, whether you believe it or not. It doesn't matter if you can't figure a bit of your life out on your own. God knows what He's doing. Last, letting go and moving on won't happen over night. You have to work for healing and growth, and it might take a very, very long time. But never give up, because one day you will wake up and you will feel different, better. Not whole yet by any means, but hopeful, with the shiny shimmers of a bright future ahead. Your memories will have moved from your head to your heart, no longer overwhelming all your thoughts and causing you pain, but quieter, safer, in a place where they can stay forever. On that day, you will have taken one step towards moving on, and the rest will follow when the time is right. Be patient, be hopeful. Thanks for reading,
-mads

Be Nicer Than Me.

You know those people who you simply CANNOT tolerate? We all have them, the people in our lives that every single thing that escapes their mouths makes us want to tear all our hair out and every single thing they do makes us want to jump off the roof just to get away from them. I tell other people to be patient with them, I tell myself to be patient with them, but somehow, when faced with one of these least-favorite people, I forget all too quickly. A situation that is pertinent to this topic occurred today, while I sat in U.S. History, minding my own business. I sit near the front of the room, close to the projector screen. We were watching a historical film about the 13 colonies, in which actors in powdered wigs prance around in front of a backdrop, declaring independence doing all those things that they did back then. Since the nice, quiet girl who usually sits behind me was gone, a certain intolerable individual came from his seat in the back of the room to sit in all-too-near proximity to me in that empty desk, intent on getting the BEST possible view of a movie no one really cares about. At the start of the film I was mildly annoyed just because he was near me, but when his legs hit the back of my desk for the millionth time, and once I realized he was being a brat on purpose, I lost a bit of my cool, whipped around and demanded rather rudely "MOVE your legs. Now." he swore at me under his breath, but I did not care in the least. I was working on pretending he wasn't there when he decided to intrude on my feet with his feet. Why a person would think they need the room under their desk AND mine is beyond me, yet there he was anyway, tapping me feet with his, pretending that they weren't my feet and that I didn't actually want to punch his teeth out. That time I almost lost it completely, and giving him the eyes of death, said loud enough for most everyone to hear, "WHAT IS YOUR DEAL!?" He wasn't thrilled about that either, but I've heard all those words before. So, I was not patient today. I am guilty of being a controlling and cranky teenage girl. On top of it all, the room smelled like feet. I blamed it on him. I shouldn't have been impatient, I shouldn't have yelled at him. I tell you this because I understand, sometimes people are terrible, but learn from my mistakes, and be a nice person, because things will be happier if you do.

Not Quite Home Anymore.

It's been three weeks since I got back to the U.S.A. I wish I could find the words to tell you about Ethiopia, but everything that happened there and all the things I learned are tied up and tangled inside my little brain. The team that I had the pleasure of traveling and spending two weeks with could not have been better. We bonded so much, and I formed some strong friendships that will hopefully last a lifetime. Ethiopia changed me, just like I knew it would. A little piece (or maybe a not so little piece), was fractured off and left in that marvelous country. Maybe it's because I had never really traveled before, or maybe it's because I'm young and impressionable, but I think it might be that God led me over there because he knows I'll be going back. I've already made some general plans for how I'll get back and when. I'll keep that to myself though, because when these plans of mine become concrete, trust me, I'll let you know. In the three weeks that have passed since my return, I've started my Junior year at Bozeman High. Let me tell you, folks, after experiencing the best two weeks of my life, living everyday to the most, helping people with incredible need, and basically just doing what I love, high school can be a real dragola. When people ask me how I'm readjusting to the "real world," I want to let them see what I've seen in Africa and yell: "THAT is the real world! That." Life is so much more than appearances, money, possessions, meaningless fake relationships, and the million other things that we worry about on a daily basis in our dry and stagnant lives. However, determined not to let my new perspective fade, I've made up my stubborn mind to make the best of this year and to make a difference regardless of where I am, whether it is the place I'd like to be or not. I'm entering this new chapter of my life with an open mind and an optimistic spirit (even if it means working hard to maintain that optimism). So, there will be many more posts relaying my small experiences and adventures, keep your eyes out for those, and read up on them when you can. Remember: Your life is big, and there is plenty of room in it, but it's your job to fill it up. Go.

The County Fair.

This summer. In autumn I will literally have no words to describe what this summer has meant to me. It's just golden. I've shared some wonderful memories with with friends who will undoubtedly be around in my life for years to come. Last weekend, for instance, I attended the Gallatin County Fair in our good old Bozeman. I had never really done the whole fair thing, with the crazy carnies and the precarious rides, but when my best friend invited me to come along with her and our friend Michael (who I had never actually met in person), I knew summer memories would be right around the corner. When we arrived at the fair, we bought a handful of tickets each and made a bee-line towards the Typhoon. The Typhoon is a ride I can't quite describe, other that it whips you in a humongous vertical circle and it's a whole lot of crazy fun, especially if you scream your lungs out. After that one we deliberated for awhile and ended up in front of the Scrambler. Hopefully most of you know what the Scrambler looks like, it's  a classic. Anyway, as we stood in line it started to rain. Nothing torrential, just a drizzle. As we chose our mildly dampened seats, the song "If Everyone Cared" by Nickelback began playing over the speakers. As the ride gained speed, so did the rain. We began humming along, then singing, then positively belting the lyrics to that song as we whipped and jerked in the icy rain that was by this time drenching our every inch. It was like one of those perfect moments we wish we had more often, where despite things going terribly wrong, it all turns into something terribly right. Magic. After we made our way off the ride (reluctantly), the fair continued. It kept raining, and we kept laughing. We gave the carnies something to laugh about when we went through the fun house, and after that were forced to take temporary shelter from the cold on the bleachers in the horse arena with a bag of kettle corn. Our dear friend Isaac showed up and joined our brigade of disheveled youth for  awhile, and we at our kettle corn and shared sprite until we weren't shivering quite as badly. When we were finally all funned out at the fair, Mary, Michael, and I wandered out of the park singing. We climbed into Mike's car, turned on the heater and some pop music, and sang all the way to Mary's. We learned that I am an absolute professional at making hot chocolate from scratch, and after that we watched Aquamarine, and after that, Mary and I tested Michael's patience by having a poetry reading and finding hilarity in everything we said or did. And that was my Fair Experience. I left out a few bits, like the pig barn and the wonderful swings, but I got the highlights in there, and those are what you want to read, anyway. So if you didn't want a story about the fair, and just scrolled to the bottom of post, read this: life is about what you make it.
P.S. Happy birthday, to my lovely mumsy!

Camp, the week of Planned Spontaneity. Part II

This is part two of the previous post, so I'll just keep going. After Wednesday night, which was quite possibly one of the worst nights ever, we still couldn't keep food down. It was thought to be a 24 hour thing, but alas, we were in it for the long haul. On Thursday Rach and I looked like walking death, and we felt about the same. We took command of the couch in the lodge and stayed there all day, too tired and queasy to do anything else. Thursday however, granted us a gift. That evening, while I was talking to Timmy in the lodge, thunder and lightning shook the whole place and rain and marble-sized hail began pelting down. It didn't matter then how hungry or sick I was, we jumped off the couch and raced out the door. After a couple minutes we found the rest of our friends (great minds think alike?), and danced, splashed and laughed together in the storm. It was a dose of life's most potent medicine. And it was marvelous. We showed up to dinner soaking wet, freezing cold, and blissfully happy. I was healthy enough to attend chapel that night, and when we sang my favorite old-school camp song, "The Slinky Song," I nearly fainted from the lack of food and the effort of singing. That night we did our third and final interpretive dance, and it was fabulous. Friday morning, we still had not eaten. Rachel was still feeling rotten but I thought I was better so I ate a biscuit at breakfast. The nurse was getting worried, so Rachel was going home a day early. I was going to stay, that is, I was until I barfed up the biscuit and all the water I drank. So I was going home too. As we packed up our stuff I sat on the floor and cried. I didn't want to say goodbye yet. I never do. As we waited for Rachel's mom to come pick us up, we watched the rest of camp play water games and dance on the field, and an honest tear rolled down my face. I was missing my favorite part of camp. When we left, our friends hugged us and I wished so badly that I could have stayed but two entire days without food were taking a toll on me. As we sat in the van, Rachel and I looked across at each others tired faces, and I knew we had to go through this together, even though it was absolutely horrible. It was supposed to happen, for some bizarre reason or another. When we finally got home, I felt so much better already and for the first time in days, I ate a snack and didn't vomit it up. I'm not sure why I got better when I got home, but it happened.This was just a few of the crazy things that fell from the sky that week in addition to the vast amount of things I learned from God. I could write a whole book about last week, but I'm sure two blog posts is plenty for you.

Camp, the week of Planned Spontaneity. Part I

Each year, I am stunned by all the crazy surprises and memories that get packed into my week at Clydehurst camp. Every single year, I think I know what to expect, until those expectations are blown out of the water and replaced by things I couldn't imagine and will remember forever. This year was no different. I don't even know how to begin the description of the week, so I'll start at the beginning; on the bus ride up, Rachel and I ate peanut butter, chocolate chips, and raspberries. Rachel and I became friends last year on the way to camp, so we celebrated one glorious year of friendship with the best portable food ever, peanut butter. Getting to camp was no big deal, saw some old friends and finally got the cabin I had always wanted to stay in. Before bed, when we were waiting to brush our teeth in the bathroom, Rachel and I chose that moment to become infamous. We made our counselor think up a story on the spot so that we could bust out our interpretive dance moves in our sports bras and pajama pants in the middle of the cabin floor. Our dance was complete with start and end poses, individual and group bows, and stage presence. A tradition was born, and we decided to do a dance every night. Later that week we would be known by most of the staff as THE interpretive dancers, and we even did a show or two for the two staff members who did nightly cabin checks. Another tradition, though not formed by us but by the camp, and maintained for the health of the campers, was night meds. It's exactly what it sounds like; meds, at night, for those who take meds at night and remembered to bring their pills. Night meds is where Rachel and I met many of our friends, including Timmy. We met Timmy on Sunday night, but we really didn't become friends until Monday evening, so I'll come back to that. On Monday we took the hike to Trinity falls, where Mikaela, Rachel, and I held hands and dunked under the freezing falls of icy mountain run-off. On the wet hike back down, I twisted my ankle. Badly, and it made one of those liquid-y popping noises that you never want to hear. I kept walking on it until after lunch, when it began swelling, so I got it wrapped up. That evening was July fourth, so we found our new friend Timmy and ate watermelon and watched fireworks. Then night meds, then interpretive dance, then bed. Tuesday was fun but  non advantageous, other than cramming my swollen ankle into my sneakers to play Capture the Flag, and of course, another dance. Wednesday came, and I thought it would be just another day. However, after another fun day, I was feeling a little queasy before dinner. I ate anyway and was told it would just settle. I was walking with Rachel down to chapel when The Sick hit us like a semi. We made a bee-line back up the hill to our cabin and then took turns barfing up lunch and dinner. That night, when everyone was out staying up late and having a grand time, Rachel and I learned friendship in its truest form, while we held each others hair back and vomited a minimum of ten times each. It was that night that we also learned what a true friend Timmy was. I would say Mikaela too, but we already knew how wonderful that girl is. Anyway, he risked trouble of many kinds to be our friend that night. First he stood on our porch, which is against the rules of the camp, and secondly, he risked getting what we had, which would have kept me off of any ones porch, especially on such a fun night. This concludes part one. Please read part two.

So Close I Can Finally See It

Today I can say exuberantly and with much relief that I have one glorious week at Clydehurst camp ahead of me. This means one week without fundraising; one week where I can sit down if my feet hurt, go hiking, play games, meet new people, and take a nap if I'm tired, all without worrying about the next bake sale or farmer's market. However, our hard work is slowly paying off, because I only have around $800 left, and though that seems like a large amount, remember that this is out of $3,000. Our plane tickets for Ethiopia have been purchased and we leave in just over a month. It seems like just last week I was frantically filling out my application for the trip in hopes of getting on the team despite my age. It seems like I was just wondering who would be on the team and if I would be the youngest or if they would like me or if I could possibly raise enough money. So far, God has answered all those questions in the best way possible. He's still working on that last one though. Fundraising has given me such a lesson in faith. I've already learned so much from this trip, and we haven't even left yet. So, I'm out for a week. I won't be doing any baking, but I will be praying. I'll write a bit on my adventures after this week is over. I hope you all are having an incredible summer!

It's finally here.

Summer. Just the word evokes nostalgia of summers past and brings excitement and hope for summers to come. That word contains our favorite smells; of sunscreen on skin, the ocean or a lake, Chlorine from the pool, mowed grass and, here in Montana, just a faint hint of wildfire smoke. It houses the feeling of that first summer sunburn, when you fry as red as a lobster and all your skin peels off but all you can do is look at your less-than-ideal reflection in the mirror and grin your face off because in some way, that sunburn is one of the most beautiful things you've seen after a fall, winter, and spring spent in school. It's evidence that proves you're alive and present in the world, even when everything seams so surreal. For me, my summer is mostly about Ethiopia, and though that will be one of the most incredible experiences of my life, fundraising impinges on my social life on a nearly daily basis. Despite that, though, this summer has already given me some of the things every person craves for the short free months: A bonfire, surrounded by all the people who needed to be there at that time, bike rides at dusk, time on the front porch with my family, a wicked sunburn and a Chaco tan already, late nights spent reading To Kill A Mockingbird, a booth at the farmer's market, reinventing myself (again), marshmallows cooked my favorite way (scorched black on the outside and gooey on the inside), and best of all so far, sunsets, stretched and painted across the sky. The number of sunsets I witness mean nothing, they grab my eyes, my heart, and my soul, and hold it there until the last color is gone. Every time. I don't know what plans you have for the summer, but please, make this one count. It is what you make it, people. These less than three months under the glassy blue dome could very well be the best of your life. That's my plan, anyway. If you read this and want to share your summer stories, hopes, or dreams, write or tell them to me, I'm all ears.

Ma vie est bonne

Dear everyone, my life is good right now. I just thought I'd take some time to check in with all of you wonderful readers who I love. It is with relief of throbbing arms that I can say that I now have all of my necessary vaccines for Ethiopia. We have around six more days of school, which is absolutely exhilarating. Soon. Soon we'll be free from the loud and dark hallways of BHS. Summer will be here and the worries relevant to school will dissolve into the sunshine. I can't wait, folks! My only sibling, Walter, is graduating THIS WEEKEND.  We have a big party and tons of food planned, not to mention my wonderful grandparents from New York and Minnesota, as well as my fabulous Auntie and my cousin Cam, also from the great state of NY. This weekend is sure to be packed full of joy and sheer chaos. Next weekend are the dreaded spring finals, so in addition to trying to absorb every moment with my family I also have to pack my brain full of my second semester education. There might be a few late nights in my near future. Regardless, I'm so excited. I hope you all are doing well and biting your nails with excitement for summer (not really, nail biting is bad), because it's almost here so get ready to have some fun and enjoy your freedom!

Blessed

Greetings, everyone! About  three weeks ago I sent out some fundraising letters, and now donations are slowly starting to appear in my mail box. Today I was especially blessed when, after a long day at my dance recital and many hours spent on sore feet, I received another incredible gift. Thank you to ALL of you who have donated and/or prayed for me so far. I have reached the thousand dollar mark thanks to your loving generosity. I pray that God will bless you in return for how much you've blessed me.

To Get There

So, I took the first baby steps on my journey to Ethiopia yesterday as I waded through the puddles in my street with my fund raising letters, over to the mail boxes and sent up one quick prayer before I dropped them into the abyss of the outgoing mail bin. Here we go. The entire trip has now been set into motion. I don't have any other news to share right now other than if you're logging on and reading this blog for the first time, thank you and welcome!

Change of topic.

While it is certainly true that I have many funny and adventurous stories worthy of writing down here, Ethiopia is definitely my biggest and most important adventure. So, for the next four-ish months this here blog will be primarily about that. I hope this is ok with everyone, and I hope you'll be patient, keep reading, and possibly even enjoy it. Peace.

Ethiopia or bust

So, remember the Super-secret summer adventure I hinted at in my last post? It is no longer a super secret, because here's the story. While sitting in church one snowy morning in March, a video clip played on the large overhead screens. In this video, children in Addis Abbaba, Ethiopia were shown living in a huge garbage dump. Most of them are orphans. The video also talked about how they had received scholarships to attend and live at a Christian school called the Bright Hope School, but only through the school year. In order for them to be able to attend the school in the fall, they must attend summer camp. There are around 400 children who will be attending. At the very end of the video it asked if anyone felt called to be part of the ten person team and help lead summer camp and bring God's love to these children. My heart screamed "YES!" but at the time I still had not heard from Clydehurst and my possible employment there. But I didn't stop thinking about those kids, the video played over and over in my head. When I heard from Clydehurst I was devastated but within a few days I began to think even more about Ethiopia. A week later I attended an informational meeting about the trip. The cost is $3,000, and if I wasn't destined to go, that alone would have stopped me, not including that I didn't have a passport and that except for a family vacation to Canada I've never been out of the country. But it didn't stop me, and immediately after the meeting I was at home filling out the application for the trip. That night I handed it in to the trip organizer, but I only had to wait for her to read the first pages for her to say "you're coming." I asked again and again if indeed I really was going but the answer never changed. So now, in August of this year we'll leave for the most life-altering three weeks of my life, and I couldn't be more excited. My entire summer fell into place in less than one week. Fund raising and working my buns off will consume my days, but I wouldn't have it any other way. God is surprising. Two months ago I wouldn't have imagined this, but tonight the team has their first meeting and I'm blessed enough to be part of it. I prayed for adventure, I prayed for a chance to help people in a big way, I prayed to be a part of God's plan, and I miraculously got all three at the same time. $3,000 dollars? It seemed impossible but now I know God will get us there. I know a lot of you wonderful readers out there aren't religious, and that I talk about God a lot in this post, but I have to write it because know that He's behind all of these miracles. But if you do believe in God, pray for me. Because I need your help.

Closed Doors, Open Windows

So, my dear friends and readers, it has been awhile. In my earlier posts I wrote about my dream job at Clydehurst Christian Ranch (CCR), and how amazing my summer there would be. I thought I was perfect for that job and that it would be crazy if I was not accepted. Well, Crazy has a way of following me around because I received word from them last week. In my application there was a Beliefs section, which asked our thoughts on controversial issues such as drugs and alcohol, abortion, and homosexuality. I answered with candid honesty, that drugs were wrong, and that I abhor abortion unless the baby was predetermined to be born with a life-crushing disability (such as head-to-toe paralysis). As for homosexuality, I wrote that while it says it is a sin in the Bible and I agree with that, but I have friends who are born homosexuals, and since they cannot change the way they are, I don't try to change them either, but I love them anyway. Anyway, CCR emailed me to tell me that they were looking for older staff this year. I had no issue with that, and actually agreed with that decision, but they then went on to say that my "thoughts" about said issues did not align with their [conservative] views. I can understand why my belief about abortion could be wrong, but they told me that they believe that homosexuality is an unacceptable sin. They even suggested that I talk to my parents or pastor about these issues. Really? Do you think that some homosexuals haven't tried to change the way they are? Sure, some are just plain messing around where they shouldn't be, but some have truly tried to be heterosexual. What do we tell them if we are living in that narrow-minded frame? "God doesn't love you"? Or even simply "go to hell"? I think not. God loves everybody, and I know that for a fact. So, the lesson I learned here was that if I'm going to be a spectacular individual, I need to know what I believe and stand by it, even when it takes away an incredible opportunity. There's a phrase that says that when God closes one door, he opens another. In this case, He closed a door in my face and instead of opening another one, he opened the window instead. I have a Super-secret Summer Adventure possible, but I'll have to climb through the windows to get there, because it's not nearly as easy as walking through a door. I will update you with my plan as soon as I get a few questions answered. Until then, remember to do crazy things, smile, laugh, love, and take the high road in your life, because that's where the sun is.

Quicksilver life

Life is rushing past at such a rapid pace, It almost scares me. I registered for classes of my junior year. It seems like class of 2013 was just walking through the halls as timid freshman. But next year we're all juniors. Then, after that, is the fantasized and glorified senior year, and after that... Our futures are no longer guided by the parallel lines of public education. Our fragile high school friendships will fizzle out until we can no longer remember the sound of our friends laughter or understand why those things we said were so funny. We'll all grow up. This seemed like something that will never happen, like driving towards the horizon but never meeting the edge of the earth. But it will happen, and I probably will be too grown up and preoccupied to even notice. What will happen if every moment is not acknowledged and stretched to its full potential? Answer that on your own, because it may not bother you. But it bothers me; I feel like I'm constantly wasting my own time along with that of everyone around me.  I want to travel around the world a thousand times over, because I know that if I do, I still won't have even come close to seeing and experiencing and knowing what life is about, no matter how temporary life is. That is why I must constantly reinvent myself, because life is far too fleeting to remain the same through it all. I decided to write about this today not only because it has been  lodged into my mind, but also because I want to remind you all that everything matters. Every moment, either wasted or used wisely.
Here is a list of things to do in order to start making every moment count. Choose something off this list, or make your own list, do it, and make some memories.

• Get up early, watch the sunrise 
• Give someone something (money, food, encouragement, time, love)
• Build a monument to something or someone
• Stand up for someone
• Take off your shoes, run around
• Sing in the shower
• Make a fort
• Tell a secret
• Conquer a phobia
• Leave a love note
• Climb a mountain (or a hill)
• Discover something
• Watch the sunset, all of it 

An Ode To Some Things Wonderful.

Since I regrettably do not have the time for a long post tonight, I'm just going to share some highlights.

Beautiful things i saw today:

• The proud look on a mentally disabled girl's face when Special Olympics was announced at our winter pep rally.
• The ice cream sorbet colored sunset across the Tobacco Root mountains.

• The non-judgmental look on my new friends face as I talked way too loudly.

The nicest thing someone said to me today: 

"Your hands are freezing! Let me shelter them."

Something that surprised me today:

The fact that my older brother asked how my day was when he picked me up form drivers ed.

Life is beautiful, beauty is everywhere.

Everything is beautiful

I feel like I've crossed over into some sunny enlightenment, and I feel as though I've just walked out of a cave. What a wonderful feeling it is. There is about seven new inches of snow in Bozeman today, and with it comes the question of how in the world could anyone hate winter? Since I haven't written in a long time, I'll catch you up. We got a yellow lab a few days ago and his name is Lucky. About a week ago we got a parakeet, who I first named Emerson, but who we now call Bitey, for reasons that should be obvious. Since I wrote about the broken zipper on my coat, I had been saving up my money for many weeks and bought a wonderful blue coat yesterday, which gives me all the more reason to adore winter. Also, the coordinator of the camp that i want to work at this summer had told me that my application has not been disqualified and that I'm going through to the hiring process. This doesn't mean that I'm positively working there yet, but it means that I'm one step closer. I read a quote this morning that said 'A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step,' and I just can't get that out of my head, what an awesome image.  So, since I have copious amounts of review homework to complete today, I'd just like to let you know that there is beauty in everything, and if you notice it, you will undoubtedly be filled with joy.

First Night In Bozeman

In my life I feel the strong need to take the ordinary and make magic out of it, or at least adventure. Much of this comes from moving across the country in a pick-up truck and a minivan, with all our belongings in a horse trailer. My first night in the glory of the west was not a magical one in any way; We had been promised open plains, rolling hills, blue skies, and sunsets. We drove the last four hours to Bozeman in the rain, with an air of depression all around us. I didn't care for the mountains, and I hated Bozeman with all the passion in my ten-year-old body. When we arrived, we had no food, so Walter and dad went to the grocery store, and mom and I went to find a hotel. Our first and only stop was the Imperial Inn, downtown. I honestly cannot remember liking a place less. It smelled like decay, and it also looked like decay. After waiting on the Duct-taped pleather chairs for around a half an hour, dad called us and asked us to meet him at Albertsons grocery store, because we were going to stay in a place a friend at the church had given us. We went, bought a serated knife, a foot long sub, and a box of Honey Bunches Of Oats with Peaches cereal. We also bought four of those long rugs with the rubber on the bottom, which I'll tell you about later. We got to the "place" we had been given and I had no doubt why it had been free. It was number 59 in Wagon Wheel trailer park, it smelled like stale alcohol and urine, there were wild mushrooms (the non-edible variety) growing in the corner of the bathroom, and the whole trailer was placed at a tilt, so the anything you dropped on the left side would zoom to the other side and smack into the wall. after spending ten minutes in the trailer, my mom sat, leaning on the open door frame, and cried. When we were all inside we ate the food we had bought, cut with the knife we had bought, while sitting on the gritty floor together. Eventually we realized we would have to sleep here, and this is where the rugs come in. I spent my first night in Bozeman sleeping on that rug, which is now serving its intended purpose in the laundry room. Somehow we turned this place into a home, which has taught me that any place and any situation can be spectacular. Since I wrote about Wagon Wheel, I have to write about Henrietta. She was our next door neighbor, and at least once a week she would pound her elderly fist on our door and request the use of our cell phone. She was around 68, but she walked everywhere if she wasn't taking the Gallavan, and I believed she was certifiably off her rocker. Everyday she would turn on her favorite song, Somewhere Over The Rainbow, and listen to it multiple times on the highest volume setting available. I loved her and hated her at the same time. I feel the need to mention her because there's never been anyone quite as out there as she was. And probably still is, because to my knowledge she won't put her feet up until they fall off. After we had settled into this new life, I got the sunsets I was promised. I had a kite that was as big as me, and on breezy evenings my dad would take Walter and I to an Abandoned field near the trailer park and we would fly the kite against the backdrop of the sky and the mountains. And as the sun set we would lie down on the dead grass and watch as the sun sank sleepily into the the Tobacco Root mountains. Those times were magic.

Water All Around

Why is life like weather? Sometimes we can be happy, but it's only a matter of time before the clouds, the wind, and the rain are back again. And sometimes, when you expect it least, there comes a flood. We are in a flood. The reliable things in my life are washing away, and though I've accepted the fact that I personally can't change it, it still cuts like a knife. My uncle has cancer. It sounds too distant to say uncle. My mom's brother has cancer. It's bad. Stage four, and they just found out today. She is worried sick, even though she won't show it. I know everything happens for a reason, but I sure would like to know the reason behind this, God. I want to know why I see the people who hold me together falling apart. I want to know why we are numb and cold toward each other, and I want a book of answers. When the earth was flooded, and while Noah and the animals were safe and cozy on their boat, I wonder about the rest of the people, dirty and sinful and wet, and how they felt. Terrified and overwhelmed, with their hearts in their throats and their laughter gone. Maybe about how I am feeling now, but probably worse. Yesterday was not easy, but it was so much easier than today. Tomorrow might seem new, but it might get stained. And even though the rain is fun to dance in, it will make our lives messy afterword. And even though the clouds will give us shade, they make us forget the sun. And even though the wind blows us away from our stagnant lives, it never, ever tells us where to go.

Life Is Like A Weavers Loom

My first day of finals made me want to drop out of school and wander the streets like a hobo. I want to be free. I've been thinking a lot lately about reality, trust, and the fact that I believe everything happens for a reason. Life is like a big loom, weaving an elaborately patterned piece of cloth, where every thread is a person and every color, line or dot in the pattern are events that shape our lives. I spend the majority of my brain cells trying to figure out why things happen, and how my life can positively or negatively influence another persons. The over-spoken phrase is true; Life is complicated. Within each person is a soul, with complex problems that are like viruses. Each one of those troubled souls interact with other troubled souls, and create an even more intricate weave and pattern. This is what I think about when I'm not watching TV. Ever wonder why I love TV so much? This is why. I also mentioned trust. I never never once met a person other than Jesus who has not let me down in some way. Nothing is real, everything is fake in our world, that's been my experience. Every time I find someone who I hope is different from the rest, all I have to do is wait. Wait until I learn for the zillionth time that no one (absolutely no one) is who they say they are, or who you optimistically assumed they were. It is this reason that I stayed in school. I like to rattle the cage. I like being different, and being exactly who I say I am.  I wish life could be simpler, I wish we had the courage to be unique again. I wish our souls have never grown old.

Bonne Weekend!

Finals week. Is. Tomorrow....and I definitely should be studying, but I'm definitely not. Aside from making a note card for my Geometry final and writing an essay, this has been one of the laziest weekends of my life. In other words, it has been wonderful. Here are some of the high lights of my weekend: "dog-sitting" with my bestie at her neighbors house, watching Americas Next Top Model while eating Coffee Almond Swirl ice cream, sleeping in, taking a bath with tons and tons of bubbles, and only changing out of my pajamas and putting on make-up when I actually had to go somewhere, like church. Americas Next Top Model is by far one of the most fascinating shows I've ever seen. Every time I watch it I learn something new about beauty in our world. So cool! I'm still in my pajamas now, and I have been all day, waiting for the jeans I painted on to be dry (remember the paint-spilling story? Same pants, new life span) and once they do, I'll try to find the courage to wear them in public. Other big news, our dog needed to be put down, which is sad, even though no one actually liked the dog except for my dad. His name was Jerry, and he was the skinniest, ugliest, smelliest, but most loving dog ever. My dad, named Don, misses him a lot, even though he won't talk about it. He's already looking for another dog to give him what he says is, "what your kids won't give you; love and adoration." It's almost time for youth group, which is actually pretty fun. We play a lot of dodge-ball. I'll check in tomorrow for a summary of the fist day of finals week.

Red Paint

This day was bananas (B-a-n-a-n-a-s!). It started out with yours truly eating granola out of a mug, then in my 7:30am gym class we took our written final/essay, where I wasted 15 minutes writing about the "Journey of the ovum, Flight of the sperm," which I am hoping to never have to right about again in my life-time. After that, I left class early and wandered the halls, before completely schooling it up on my English II debate. We were debating the Park51 project, better known as the "mosque at Ground Zero" and whether or not it should be built. We flipped a coin, and I got con, when I had crossed my fingers for pro, but I debated, and won with a ten to one vote in my favor (Score!). I usually don't win things, so this was a pleasant surprise. In art class, after lunch, I dumped bright red Tempera paint all over my favorite pair of pants, then tried to clean in off with yellow and green paint on my hands. Did not work. Now I was a walking art project, though some how, having paint smeared all over my leg made me feel like a true artist, even though I actually looked like an idiot. I think I've finally found my niche in high school, as one of the artsy kids. One of the ones whose life does not revolve around the big ugly holding pen called school. I'd like to believe that I'm better than that. After drawing class, I had to take home the majority of my drawing folder in my hands, which was precarious, and just as I thought I would, I ended up practically throwing the stack of papers across the hallway. Luckily, I have the best friends on planet earth, and my friend Will picked up my art pieces while I whined and wailed about this day I was having. He's such a wonderful individual.  Now I am at home, and my favorite TV shows are on tonight; Community, The Office, 30 Rock, and Outsourced. There is no better cure than mindless television, and I know artists aren't supposed to say this, but I freaking love watching TV. Enough said.  

Rejoice!

Oh people. Oh people, people, people. My soul is practically kicking me in the head, it is so happy. I recently applied for my current dream job as a staff member at my most favorite camp, Clydehurst Christian Ranch, and have been awaiting the confirmation email, telling me that they received my application. It just came! Now once my references complete their part, I am one step closer to this amazing experience! I won't know for sure if I'm hired until March or April, but I can wait. It's worth it.
On and unrelated topic, does anyone know just how difficult it is to choose a winter coat these days? I have this wonderful task ahead of me, since around a week ago I slammed my coat into a car door, which broke the zipper. It was stupid, and I looked like and idiot, getting stuck to the vehicle, and now my zipper is deceased. Sad day.
I would also like to announce that I now have not one, but TWO followers! So welcome to my best friend, who is as kind and loyal as she is pretty (you're very pretty). My Wednesday has been awesome, so I will rejoice and dance like a maniac, pulling a muscle in my butt in the process.

The Power Of Sauteed Mushrooms In Butter

Last night I kicked my diet out the door for the night, and made sliced mushrooms sauteed in butter, garlic, and a splash of olive oil. My brother grilled steaks outside in his bathrobe, and I also made a Greek salad with garden herb Feta cheese. It was divine, and totally turned my bad mood around. It's a rare occasion that I get to eat sauteed mushrooms, and last night was such an occasion. My only sibling, Walter who is seventeen, just graduated high school. I know it's January, but he decided to graduate early and start college at MSU. Full speed ahead Walter, and good luck.
Skiers rejoice, it's a Saturday morning and the snow is dumping down. It's beautiful, even if you're not a skier. Today I will be hunting down good deals at the Bozeman Salvation Army. This is by far one of the best places in downtown Bozeman, even though it's kind of a dump. Doesn't matter though, because it rocks. I am not getting my hair cut today, but perhaps in a week. This means one more week of wearing my hair up, and taking the time to put it up. Shoot. Oh well, nothing can rain on my parade, it's a snowy Saturday morning, and there's adventure to be had!

Since I don't really have anything special to say today, i was just sort of hoping that boundless inspiration would hit me in the face. But that didn't happen, because here I am. Today the world rubbed off some of it's evil tarnish and showed a brighter side I hadn't seen in weeks.  Even the boy who I personally thought to be evil was kind and generous today. However, that's probably due to the fact that it's Friday, also known to most as party night, and the sheer thought of a wild weekend can turn any boy into a saint. Unfortunately, not a speck of saintly-ness came off on me. I feel dragged down, and I currently have zero motivation for anything other than television and sleep. That might change by tomorrow, since my best friend and I are planning to get our hair cut. High-school is so complicated, and it just so happens that we spend our most defining years there. In a vast brick building that is teaming with personal problems and short lived glory. I suppose I'm just griping. I'm usually depressed in the evenings, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it was the fact that I rode the bus home. The bus, number 13, is the one thing that could ruin my day. It's loud, it smells weird, the bus driver stands way to close while talking (he also smells weird), and there is chewed gum everywhere. Yes, after releasing those feelings, I have deducted that as the reason to my bad mood. Problem solved. Until I ride the bus again.

Decision Vetoed. Starting now.

Ok, so now that I really can't make a trust-worthy decision, I'll just say it: I'm probably staying in school. I realized you don't have to get away from the school to rise above it and be the amazing person you want to be. Sure it's easier, but it's just as possible to be extraordinary right where you are. Right where I am. In the stale and stuffy classroom where I take Health class, there is one cheesy poster that actually means something to me, it says, "Anyone can stand out, but it takes courage to be outstanding." Super corny, but still super true. It's Thursday now, and surprisingly this week has flown by. I'd like to believe that the school needs me there. To be different. I know they actually don't need me, and a few people might be happier if I was gone, but I feel the need to be here, even if I don't know what for. So I'm throwing out the figurative rule-book on the person I have to be, because I want to be the one who can say they did something with their youth. Starting now.

Monday. Ew.

Ladies and gentlemen, I  would like you all to know that my decisions are not resolute, and that I am now thoroughly depressed. I was planning on doing something nifty and fun like a countdown until freedom, but after having a fairly decent day I realized that signing the release papers and saying goodbye won't be as easy as I thought it would. I'm confused on what I should do. Will it be worth it? If I had a follower other than my lovely mother, I would ask you all to give me a little bit of candid advice. My day was good, I helped a friend, and even laughed at something a teacher said. But...I want to do amazing things! So I came home. I cried. I cried while eating hummus and whole grain Wheat Thins. I cried while I wandered my small house. I sat down on my kitchen floor and cried. It was pathetic, but I'm feeling a little better. It's normal to want to stick to a pattern, and normal to feel sad when it's time to try something new. The only thing I'm really scared of is the fact that if I quit...It's final, and there's no going back. There are a few things I love about school; my best friend (her name is Mary), lunch, and all its infinite possibilities, arguing with the mean and rather rude boy in Math Lab, my Bio teachers war against the lethargic pet lizard, Swift Walks (the speed walks taken by Rachel and I in order to get to class at the other side of the building on time), and many other beautiful things. But it might be time for a new thing.
Here at my house, we are having some interesting food, tonight's special was Moroccan Chicken, Chickpea And Cashew soup. My mom jokes that if we keep eating this ridiculous food, we'll all reach our weight-loss goals in a minimal amount of time. Today while in drawing I was asked if I was on acid, because I always have the craziest ideas for art, that come out of nowhere. I'm not on acid, I'm proud to say, but I just couldn't get over the funniness of that question. Well, since I've been shrugging out of doing my homework while writing this, I'll have to get going on that, so I'll leave you with one terrifying fact: 13 days to get my crap together and decide what to do with my life.

More about the half-way drop-out

As I mentioned above, I am quitting school all but my ceramics, advanced drawing, and french 2 classes. My wonderful mother is very much to blame for this decision, because each and every time I come home from school and cry my eyes out about how hateful it is there, she calmly repeats just as she does every time, that there are a million things to do, and that I am welcome to drop out at anytime. So i am finally taking her advice. I am sick of school, I am sick of research projects in am. gym class, and how the school system only cares about our education because the better we do on tests, the more funding the school receives. It's messed up. I'm usually not a quitter, but i actually don't consider this quitting, since I'll get so much more out of my life this way. I'll be able to make and sell my hemp jewelery, finally, and paint and draw and go on snowshoe hikes. I've never been snowshoe hiking, but in my head, it's a worthwhile thing to do, even though i hate hiking. much of my inspiration to quit school came from and awesome book that you should read if you hate school, called The Teenage Liberation Handbook by Grace Llewellyn. I am in the process of reading it, and it's awesome. The date today is January second, and this is the last day of winter break. Two mind-frazzling weeks of school will follow, and then we will have semester finals, and then I can begin my new and vibrantly more interesting life. Cheers!

Simple Intro/ Why-on-earth-I'm-actually-doing-this

I never thought i would have a blog, or be one of those nerdy people who spend their weekends on a site such as this, filling anonymous or non-existent readers in on the details of their life. But here I am anyway. But since I don't want to suck away your time and energy on a pointless read, I have a promise for you: This is not my diary...I have one of those already. That (not this) is where i complain about my life, relationships, cruel teachers and all the other stuff not worth reading.
So, why I'm doing this also ties in with the name of this blog; Lifebeyondthefishbowl. I named it that because I am ready to go beyond the swimming-in-circles cultural norm, that says you have to go to school and blend in and never say what you're thinking. I always say what I am thinking. I'm not sure if I blend in, but I doubt it, and I'm dropping out of public high school...halfway dropping out anyway. It's a new year, and I'm ready to be my own person. Since I think this is neat, I'm writing this blog.
Happy New Year!