End of 2010

It's been a list-worthy year, I think.

New Things I've Done in 2010:
1. Won money for my writing (Firstlinefiction and the College Writing essay contest at UMM)
2. Worked new jobs: Target, Writing Room, Info. Desk, S.S. Office
3. Met a ton of new friends
4. Lost a few old friends
5. Narrowed my career search down to three criteria: people, writing, travel
6. Stopped being a teenager

Best Books I Read in 2010:
1. Going Bovine (Libba Bray)-After finding out he has a rare disease and doesn't have long to live, Cameron Smith sets off on a quest to save his own life with the help of a pink-haired angel, a video game-playing dwarf, and a lawn gnome who may just be a Norse god. Sounds kind of crazy, I know, but this book has so much heart and humor that I couldn't put it down.

2. This Side of Paradise (F. Scott Fitzgerald)-I know you've already heard me rant quite a bit about this one, so I'll only say that Amory Blaine is probably one of my favorite fictional characters.

3. The Shack (William P. Young)-This book somehow captured perfectly the way I've always wanted to think of God.

4. Never Let Me Go (Kazuo Ishiguro)-Again, I've already written a review of this book, but it's probably the best of the best books I've read in 2010. It's immensely powerful, and at the same time heart-wrenching in the most subtle, quiet way.

5. Utopia (Thomas More)-I've wanted to read Utopia ever since I saw Ever After as a little girl. The way they rave about it and quote from it in the film convinced me that Utopia must be some sort of magical, enlightening story. And it is, although I'll admit that I think I need to read it a few more times before I can fully grasp it.

6. Atonement (Ian McEwan)-I've tried to get into this a few times, but when I finally gave myself a chance to sit down and just consume it, I suddenly wondered what had taken me so long. Incredibly fascinating story that is magnificent in its tragedy.

Finally, mainly for fun, and because the spread is of an unbelievable large size...

Food Currently Being Assembled for our New Year's Party:
1. Lasagna
2. Garlic bread
3. Salad
4. Deviled eggs
5. Meat/cheese plate with crackers
6. Pickles wrapped in corned beef spread with cream cheese
7. Champagne/sparkling grape juice for the kids
8. Chocolate wafer cake (you slather whipped cream in between the cookies to sandwich them together, and then spread more all over the entire cake. Let it sit in the fridge for a few hours and the cookies absorb the cream and soften. It's only the most delicious thing ever.)
9. Spinach dip with crackers
10. Shrimp with cocktail sauce

Overall, I think it's been a lovely year, and while I'm sad to see it go, I'm also ready to see what 2011 will bring.
I also have a not-so-secret crush on Dick Clark.
Happy New Year everyone.

Get Up and Work

This morning, as you know, I had to wake up at 2:30 a.m. to go to work. I only managed about an hour and a half of sleep, and when my alarm went off this morning, I was not amused. My hair was still wet from my evening shower, I felt like I had shut my eyes only moments before, and it was raining a cold, depressing December rain outside my window.

I lay in bed and pondered all of this for a few minutes, and then on a whim reached for the daily devotions book Dad got me for Christmas. The book is meant to be read every morning (in fact, it's titled "Starting Your Day Right"), but as I normally don't find time to read in the morning, I've been reading the entry for each day the night before. Last night, however, I had forgotten to do so.

Clumsily, then, I fumbled to the December 30th page, and what should the title of the entry be?

Get up and Work

And so I did.

Eat Pray Love

I don't have time to say much tonight; I have to wake up in less than 2 hours because I (stupidly) agreed to work the 4 a.m. shift at Target.

What I want to tell you is that I'm currently reading Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. I've wanted to read it forever, despite various people telling me that it was slow, that they had trouble getting through it.

I, however, absolutely love it. I'm just drinking it in.

I think maybe because Elizabeth did exactly what I want to do: she traveled, she met lots of people, and then she came back and wrote about everything.

That sounds like the life, doesn't it? Travel. People. Writing. That's all I ask, really.

An Appropriate Fall

I didn't sleep very well last night. Earlier in the evening, Annie (our older dog) had gotten into my Christmas stocking and eaten 3/4 of my peanut M&M's, plus part of a hand warmer (I don't know either). Thanks to Google, we learned that to make dogs throw up, you can dose them with peroxide. We did, and she threw up a few times outside before settling down on her pillow in the kitchen to gaze at us with mournful eyes.

I think the reason I didn't sleep well was because I was worried about her.

Anyway, when my alarm went off at 9:30 this morning, I was less than thrilled. In fact, I was downright cranky. Mom, Amy and I were supposed to go cross country skiing in a nearby state park, and this morning, I had absolutely no desire to go.

I had every intention of going back to sleep, when I suddenly had a thought: "you should really go, Hol."
Why should I go?
Because it'll turn out well I think.
Honestly? Right now I'm in no condition to go on some family outing. I'm tired and I'm crabby and I just want to lie in bed and pout for the rest of my life.
Just go please. You won't regret it.
Oh, fine.

So I struggled into my long underwear, wool socks, long-sleeved shirt, snow pants, jacket, hat, mittens, goggles, and boots, and we set off.

Wild Rive State Park is really a beautiful place. Even I admitted that this morning, despite my moody impatience.
We've been going there since I was little. Initially, Amy and I would just sit in our big pink sled, plump with layers, and be dragged through the woods by Mom and Dad. As we got older, though, we'd go there to cross country ski, often going on the special nights when luminaries were lined up along the trails.

It had been a while since I had seen the park, though.
In fact, it had been a while since I had skied period.

Once at the head of the trail, I clipped my boots into my skis easily enough, threading my bulky mittens through the straps on my ski poles expertly.
Amy finally managed to wrestle her own boots into her bindings, and then we started into the woods.

Not 10 feet down the trail however, and still in plain sight of the chalet filled with people, I suddenly lost my balance,
flailed my poles uselessly in the air for a few seconds,
and tipped over backwards
landing flat on my back
in the snow.

Now, still being rather cranky, my first inclination was to just remain on the ground and burst into angry, humiliated tears.
What I did instead was start laughing.
I laughed as Mom stuck her pole in my bindings to release my boots so I could stand
I laughed as Amy retrieved my own poles from where they had landed in the deep snow to my left.
I laughed as I turned to see perfect strangers laughing at me from the warmth of the chalet.

And you know what? I felt better after that.

We skied to the visitor's center to look at the fascinatingly disgusting display of pelts and stuffed birds, and then we skied back to the chalet, where we gathered our stuff and walked out to the parking lot.

I don't think I stopped laughing all day.

Sometimes I think that the reason I'm so painfully, annoyingly, incurably uncoordinated is because it helps me not to take myself so seriously.

Nothing gives you perspective quite like a good fall does.

No Assembly Required

It's funny to think that almost exactly a year ago, I was lying on the couch at Grandma's, staring at a fake Christmas tree, and blogging about the Minivan Miracle in Marathon, Wisconsin (for the full story, see last year's post).

This Christmas, I'm quite displaced. For one thing, I'm in my own bed. At home. In Minnesota.
Two German Shepherd dogs lie on the kitchen floor. The younger one (who wasn't even alive last Christmas) is sleeping comically on her back with her paws up in the air. The older one sleeps more sedately, and she pricks her ears as I wander past to look at the tree.
Our tree is very real (evidenced by the constant dropping of pine needles, which drives Dad nuts), very tall, and surrounded by presents of various sizes (displaying various levels of wrapping expertise). As I stare at it, bare feet cold against the wood floor, I can't help but think that by this time tomorrow, Christmas will be ending. The magic of the season, which has been present ever since Thanksgiving, will be packed away with the bulbs and nut dishes and empty, sad stockings. The tree will remain for a week or so, but then it too will be cast aside, thrown up and over the deck rail to slowly rot in the snow. In the spring, what's left of the tree will fuel a bonfire down by the lake. By this time tomorrow, all of the presents will be unwrapped. They will be glorious, undoubtedly, but they will lose a little of their glimmer as soon as they are opened.

I've watched quite a few Christmas movies over this past week, and it seems that in every single one, the 'moral' is that Christmas is about more than presents. Christmas is a feeling, a state of mind, and even an action. Christmas, it seems, is good old generosity and kindness all wrapped up in red and green and gold. The 'moral' part of Christmas is truly the part that doesn't dim over time. Generosity doesn't run out of batteries. Kindness can't be cracked or broken. The very best part of Christmas is the lasting part.

So may your caskets remain unblown, may your stockings bulge with promise, and may you enjoy this blessed holiday surrounded by those you love most.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Anatomy of a Novel

I think there's a novel in me somewhere. I'm not sure how it got there exactly. I mean, both of my parents are science-y, math-y people. Even my sister mostly dislikes English, although she is a far more dedicated journaler than I.

Maybe the novel nestled up against my rib cage, crushing my left lung a tad, is just buildup. You know, a bunch of leftovers mashed together into a convenient manuscript shape. A bit of This Side of Paradise here, some Harry Potter over there...and I think I can also feel pieces from some of the books I was forced to read: Nathaniel Hawthorne and Ralph Ellison are represented in that part.

Unfortunately, however, this inner Nobel winner of mine is not easily accessible. Sometimes when I'm in the shower or driving or sleeping or staring dumbly out of a window I get flashes of it, but they're never much. A conversation, maybe, or a glimpse of some character's face. They never seem to fit together, these flashes of mine. Most of the time I don't even write them down. I just continue to carry them with me, hoping for more.

Someday, I hope, my slowly emerging novel will be solid and promising on the table in front of me. I will be able to open the cover and smile at the dedication (because arrogant and sappy as I am, I already know who's name will be there). One day I will be at a Barnes and Noble, trying my best not to dash over to the fiction section and browse, and I will be signing copies of my book, handing them shyly back to people I have never met in my life. I will live in New York City (although I'll secretly miss Minnesota terribly), and I will dance (badly, because that's the only way I know how to dance) on Youtube with Libba Bray and John Green and Scott Westerfeld. And someday, when I'm old, and have written many many books, all of them precious to me, I will look a young, ambitious reporter full in the face, and answer a question. "My first novel was my most precious. Because I carried it around next to my heart*** for twenty years."

For now, though, I'll continue to blog. I'll continue to labor into the wee hours over papers whose topics I don't especially care about. I'll devour other people's stories in hopes that they will stick and become part of my own.

Someday, though (and it'll probably take a nasty case of hiccups), I will pour this entire novel onto paper (because it's so very uneloquent to say 'word document'). And I'll dance on Youtube with Libba Bray to celebrate.

Believe it.


***Don't worry, I Googled it: the heart is actually between the lungs. And the left lung, actually, is on the left side of your body if you look down at yourself. There! I did get a partial science gene after all!

A Christmas List

After days of thought (I'm serious. Days) I have compiled the following list:

Holly Lynn Gruntner's Absolute Favorite Christmas Movies of All Time:

1. The Year Without a Santa Claus-My favorite of what I fondly call the "furry" animated Christmas films (you know what I mean-they're all on ABC every Christmas). Why do I like this one in particular so much? Two reasons: Snow Miser and Heat Miser.

2. Heidi (Shirley Temple version)-When my sister and I were little, my grandparents bought us a dozen Shirley Temple films on VHS. They had grown up seeing Shirley on the big screen, and wanted to pass her down. Heidi isn't my favorite S.T., but it's certainly the most Christmassy. Also, as in all the S.T.'s, there are plenty of wholesome, ridiculous, genuinely hilarious moments.

3. The Family Stone-This is one of the few on my list that came out fairly recently. Featuring an ensemble cast (think Diane Keaton, Rachel McAdams, Luke Wilson...), The Family Stone is first and foremost about (you guessed it) a family. A quirky, judgemental, close-knit family who has a little trouble accepting a certain outsider into their midst. I would highly highly recommend this one.

4. The Santa Claus-You've all seen it. You all probably love it. Bernard the Elf makes me laugh harder than any other sarcastic, dread-locked elf I know.

5. Joyeux Noel-I first saw this one in high school, in a War History class. It's about a moment in history I never knew about: during World War I, there was something called the Christmas Truce, when opposing sides stopped their shooting and got together for a celebration. Beautiful, beautiful film.

6. Home Alone-Again, you know this one. In my family, we actually watch Home Alone on Thanksgiving, but since it's still technically a Christmas film, I thought I'd list it.

7. It's a Wonderful Life-Only seen this one once, but I hope to get a hold of it this year as well.

8. Gremlins (yes, I consider this a Christmas movie)-Steven Spielberg. Green Goblins. Snow White. Furbies. Christmas. What better combination is there?

9. Love Actually-I hope you've seen this one. Please tell me you have. I don't know how to describe it. Romantic comedy, ensemble cast, and it's about...well...you know.

10. Elf-I KNOW HIM!

Finals Finale

I'm done.
After about a week solid of sleeping 4 hours a night, after writing 3 papers and taking 2 exams, finals are finally, finally over.
I have to say, I don't remember finals being this bad last year.
I also have to say I'm proud of myself. Around this time on Sunday, I wasn't sure I could do it.
But I did. Somehow. And actually, I'm feeling good about what I've accomplished. My honors paper (as I told you) was pretty bad, but my Understanding Writing reflection paper was probably the best thing I've written for that class yet, and my Icelandic Sagas paper (which I finished about 3 hours ago) was decent as well.

As for the exams, well, I don't know. For German we had to write a 200 word essay in 2 hours (in German, obviously). The upside was that we could use our books. Having learned from the practice essay we wrote a few weeks ago, I made things easy for myself and wrote simple sentences. You know, "I gave my mother a book." That type of thing.

American Lit. was harder than I expected, truthfully. I studied the authors' names and work titles until I knew absolutely all of them, but maybe I should have made sure I knew what was in their works also. Oh well. The essay part was awesome! For the prompt I chose, I had to pick a character and explain (using Puritan, Enlightenment, and Romantic/Transcendentalist principles) why that character was unAmerican (hmm that word looks strange, but spell check is accepting it, so whatever). I wrote about Bartleby from Bartleby the Scrivener. I hope the essay turned out as well as I thought it did, because near the end of it I was so desperate to be done that I think I may have rambled a bit. Hopefully the ramblings were coherent.

Anyway, I'm all packed and ready to go home, just waiting for Mom to come get me.

I have to say, it still hasn't hit me that I'm actually finished with this semester, and that I'll have a whole month off to read and work and sit around. I kind of feel like I've been the energizer bunny all semester, just going and going and going, and now I've suddenly hit a brick wall, and I'm still lying stunned on the sidewalk, unable to comprehend what happened.

I'm sure I'll recover soon enough. In the mean time, "Be well, do good work, and keep in touch."

Finals Week, Part III

Isn't this the most beautiful thing you've ever seen? It's Trinity Church, in Antarctica. I wasn't aware that they had churches in Antarctica, but I'm certainly glad they have this one.

P.S. I'm surviving. 2 papers left, one of which I'm currently working on.

P.P.S. I've been slowly building my reading list for Winter Break. I don't know if it's a realistic amount to read in a month, but I'm certainly going to try. Here's the list, in case you're interested. It's a combination of books I've never read, and books that I have read but absolutely HAVE to tuck into again:
1. The Remains of the Day
2. How to Win Friends and Influence People (hey don't judge! It could come in handy)
3. The Handmaid's Tale
4. Huck Finn
5. Little Women (I've literally read this book once a year since 3rd grade. I love it so very much)
6. Three Cups of Tea
7. Uglies (plus the rest of the series if I get hooked, which I'm sure I will)
8. Paper Towns

Finals Week, Part II

I'm on a study break. I tried to do an hour of straight memorizing American writers and their works and the terms that describe their works, and I barely made it.

It's only the first day of Finals Week, and my brain hurts.

Maybe because I spent all weekend (literally) trying to make a thesis based on an essay we read in Honors, based on one of the paper topics provided. It kept not working and not working until I finally realized that it was not going to work. So, I switched topics. At 2 a.m. this morning. Wrote until 5. Woke up at 10. Wrote until 3:30. Turned the paper in about fifteen minutes before it was due. And it was probably the worst paper I've ever written. Not for lack of effort, but because I didn't have time to make it good.

That's the worst thing about this semester, I think. I'm trying so hard but my grades still aren't where I'd like them to be because I don't have time to focus on one subject or one paper or one reading for very long; the others start calling to me before I have a chance to even sit and consider.

Now my brain hurts and I don't think I can spend much more time with this American Lit. stuff I'm currently doing.

But okay. Here's the plan:

Tonight: Finish typing up study guide for Am. Lit. Study study guide.

Tomorrow: German final 11-1, study Am. Litl, Am. Lit. final 4-6, Work on Understanding Writing paper, Writing Room work 7-7:30, Info. Desk work 8-10, Finish Understanding Writing paper

Wednesday: Social Science work 9:30-11:30, Think of an idea for/research/write Icelandic Sagas paper. All day. Get 'er done. Info. Desk work 6-8. Finish Icelandic Sagas paper. Preferably before 3 a.m.

Thursday: You're not done with Icelandic Sagas? You've got to be kidding me, Hol...well...you have until 4:30. WRITE. After 4:30, take a few cleansing breaths, collapse limply on bed, then get up and start packing. 7:30 Mom arrives. Load car. Go home. Sleep until Saturday.

It's 10:14. 4 minutes past my alloted break time. Must go.

Finals Week, Part 1

There are two large snakes housed in the Science Building at UMM. The boa constrictor is named Ramses, and the ball python is 8 Ball. I held 8 Ball once in late October. I happened to be passing by as some of the biology majors were lifting him out of his glass tank. "Why don't you hold him?" a boy asked enticingly, draping the snake about his shoulders as if it were a scaly shawl.

My first inclination was to say no. My second inclination was to say well okay.

8 Ball was heavier than I expected; his long body was thick and muscular. His dry skin slid against mine as he twisted his head around to look at me. He flicking his tongue periodically, me hardly blinking at all, we regarded one another.

He must have decided I was all right (for a human), because he soon resumed wrapping himself tightly around my arms.

Now it's December, and I'm back again to stand in the Science Building and gaze at the snakes. Among the rocks in their enclosures, they hardly move at all. Ramses has a large lump near his throat, and I know that while he lays placidly, inside he is digesting his Sunday dinner. I pity the mouse that didn't have a chance.

I sit down beside the tanks to work on a paper that should have been done yesterday, and suddenly I would give everything good and dear and wonderful about my life to be a snake. To doze inside a warm rectangle all day, only disturbed to eat and drink and to be held by curious students wearing black glasses and hooded sweatshirts. To creep around on my belly, not concerned about getting up or lying down or hurrying or tripping or letting anyone down.

I'd like to be a snake, so I can simply be.

It's Only a Nightmare

I've decided that in lieu of posting about the nightmare that is finals, I'll post an actual nightmare that I had last winter (while sleeping).

I have to say though, for a nightmare, this one's actually pretty cool:


February 19, 2010

I had a nightmare last night. It began when I took a trip to India with some of my friends from Morris (Tim, Ally, Evan, Miles and Brockman were there for sure I remember). We were in this sort of room playing a traditional Indian game, when all of the sudden some of my friends from elementary school (Mara, Katie, and Colleen) walked in. I was really surprised to see them and we were all hugging and talking until my group had to leave.

Then the dream switched, and Tim, Ally, Evan and I were walking through a mall when we decided to stop at Barnes and Noble. We were disappointed to find that they had very few books; instead they were selling mostly Christmas decorations. I got really upset about this, and decided to untie the bow around a stuffed bear’s neck, even though the lady working there specifically warned us not to, as the bow could not be retied properly. After doing the deed, I hid the bear and we all ran out of the store and out to the car.

Not long after we had left, I felt really guilty about what I had done, so I went back in and offered to pay for the bear. While the worker lady was ringing it up, I wrote a nasty note complaining about the store’s lack of books and was about to put it in the suggestion box when the lady came up behind me and was reading it. She looked sort of sad and said that she agreed with me, but that the decorations would be taken out soon and replaced with actual books. I felt bad and threw the note away and left the store with my bear.

Back in the car (I don’t know who was driving, but Ally, Evan and I were squished in the back seat), we decided to go to a fancy restaurant, but we didn’t know how to get there. Someone remembered that Maggie Smith (yes, the British actress) lived in town, and suggested that we go to her house to ask for directions. We pulled into the road in front of her house, and saw that her chauffer was washing a black Ferrari in her driveway.

I decided to be the one to go up and ring the doorbell while everyone else waited in the car. The house itself was rather small and dumpy, and when Maggie Smith came to the door and invited me in, she went and sat down on a small footstool in front of the TV and offered me one beside her. I could see two comfortable-looking armchairs across the room, and asked her why she didn’t move those in front of the TV. She just shrugged.

All of the sudden, Maggie Smith sort of tensed up, and the chauffer came running in. They both started speaking in frightened voices about something that was coming, though they wouldn’t tell me what it was. Then they tried to tell me where to go hide, but I was having trouble understanding them. I finally got out of them that they wanted me to run across the backyard and into the backyard of the house across the way. I was to lie facedown on the neighbor’s porch steps, and it was very important that I DIDN’T OPEN MY EYES no matter what.

I did as they told me to, running as fast as I could, though it was uphill and I kept tripping. Once I got to the porch steps, I saw that there was a small child playing on them. I threw myself on top of her and covered her eyes with my hands so she wouldn’t peek either. She struggled, and I felt like a monster holding her down, but at that point I could feel the presence of something, and I was scared to death.

I was telling myself so hard not to open my eyes that I couldn’t help doing so, and as soon as I did I knew that I was in trouble. I felt a rush in the air, and as I began to run I was lifted up several feet, and the very sky seemed to turn purple. I remember knowing that I was about to be killed by this sort of monster…and then I woke up.

Imagine Again

Thirty years ago today John Lennon was shot and killed in New York City.
Earlier that day, Lennon had kindly stopped to sign an autograph for his murderer, who traveled all the way from Hawaii just to do the deed.
John Lennon was shot in the back by that man, who carried a copy of The Catcher in the Rye.

The other day, I came across a few quotes by Paul McCartney about John Lennon:
"I definitely did look up to John. We all looked up to John. He was older and he was very much the leader; he was the quickest wit and the smartest."

(when asked if he missed sitting knee to knee with John Lennon, writing songs) "Are you kidding? Of course I bloody miss it. I'm sitting in the room with John, him with me. Believe me, we're both pretty good editors. We were young turks. We were smartasses. And we did some amazing things. I would love him to be here now, saying, 'Don't bloody do that!' – or, more wonderfully, 'That's great!' So yeah, I really had the greatest writing partner."


And I decided to look for other places/ways John Lennon is remembered:

Here (Strawberry Fields, NYC)



Here (Imagine Peace Tower, Iceland)


Here


Here (A CD of my mom's; I grew up listening to it)


Here (The movie Nowhere Boy, about a young John Lennon)


Here (The Beatles)



And Here (John Lennon and his widow, Yoko Ono)


Finally, I just have to post the lyrics to that beautiful, beautiful song itself:

Imagine there's no heaven
It's easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky

Imagine all the people
Living for today...

Imagine there's no countries
It isn't hard to do
Nothing to kill or die for
And no religion too

Imagine all the people
Living life in peace...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions
I wonder if you can
No need for greed or hunger
A brotherhood of man

Imagine all the people
Sharing all the world...

You may say I'm a dreamer
But I'm not the only one
I hope someday you'll join us
And the world will live as one

1 a.m. Guitar

It's about 1 in the morning
And someone next door
is playing on a guitar
something that sounds Italian
or perhaps Spanish.
She continues to stop and start
trying to reach a difficult chord, maybe
but I don't mind.
I sit in the quiet in my room
listen to my roommate breathe
listen to the guitar
next door
and suddenly
finals seem very very small
the world is small
compared to the cold night
the soft guitar
and me.

Cinderella

Right now I sort of feel like Cinderella, for the following reasons:
1. There's a ball going on, and I'm not going.
2. Because I have to do work.
3. And I'm sitting here watching the girls on my floor get dressed up.
4. And I wish I were going with them.


I'm unlike Cinderella for the following reasons:
1. I have no adorable rodent friends.
2. It's a not a prince's ball in the palace; it's a Yule Ball (that's right-Harry Potter style) in the Student Center.
3. There are no hideous step-relatives preventing me from going.
4. My 'work' consists of papers, and presentations, and general studying, not chores and laundry.

You know, Cinderella used to be my favorite story growing up. According to my parents, I used to beg them to read it to me. Unfortunately for them, it was quite a long read, for a picture book.

Nowadays, I'm not such a fan of old Cinderella. We still own the Disney version on VHS, and whenever I watch it I'm struck by what a weak character Cinderella is.

First of all, she's not very proactive. Instead of fighting to improve her own life, she relies on mice, and a dog, and a horse, and a fairy godmother to help her win her prince. She's constantly singing about the importance of dreams, but does she ever really take any risks to make her dreams come true? Nope. She goes to a ball and dances one dance with an incredibly shallow prince, who doesn't speak two words to her, and probably only likes her for her beauty.

Furthermore, what were her dreams in the first place? To fall in love? I mean, this girl has pretty much been locked up in a manor scrubbing floors her entire life. Doesn't she want to see a bit of the world? Get an education? Make some friends? Actually live a normal life for a bit? Apparently not.

To be completely fair to Cinderella, however, I decided to google her. See if she's really just all fluff. Here's what I found out:

The story of Cinderella is actually thought to have originated around the 1st Century B.C., when a Greek history named Strabo recorded this story about an Egyptian girl:
They tell the fabulous story that, when she was bathing, an eagle snatched one of her sandals from her maid and carried it to Memphis. While the king was administering justice in the open air, the eagle, when it arrived above his head, flung the sandal into his lap. The king, having been stirred both by the beautiful shape of the sandal and by the strangeness of the occurrence, sent men in all directions into the country in quest of the woman who wore the sandal. When she was found in the city of Naucratis, she was brought up to Memphis and became the wife of the king...[3][4]

Nothing else I found led me to believe Cinderella has any depth, although I do admire her longevity. I guess everyone likes a little blind romance.

And she does have some good qualities, I'll admit. What do they call her? "Ever gentle and kind." Certainly admirable, but not exactly my kind of heroine these days.

Manna

Poetry Friday is here again, and with it comes a snow-themed poem that quite eclipses the one I wrote earlier this week:

Everywhere, everywhere, snow sifting down,
a world becoming white, no more sounds,
no longer possible to find the heart of the day,
the sun is gone, the sky is nowhere, and of all
I wanted in life – so be it – whatever it is
that brought me here, chance, fortune, whatever
blessing each flake of snow is the hint of, I am
grateful, I bear witness, I hold out my arms,
palms up, I know it is impossible to hold
for long what we love of the world, but look
at me, is it foolish, shameful, arrogant to say this,
see how the snow drifts down, look how happy
I am.

-Manna, by Joseph Stroud

The Consequences of Folly

While writing the majority of a 10 page research paper at about 5 a.m. this morning (after having pulled at all-nighter), I was suddenly reminded of a certain chapter in Betsy Was a Junior, entitled "The Consequences of Folly:"

"We bought the paper covers and the glue and things ages ago."
"But then we forgot all about them."
"And now he wants them turned in tomorrow and he says they will count for one fourth of our year's marks! It's awful!" said Betsy, summarizing. "It's a perfectly awful situation!"
The rest of the Crowd had gone riding in Carney's auto, but Betsy, Tacy and Tib had not been able to go. They had come face to face at last with the matter of herbariums.
"'A herbarium,'" said Betsy, "'is a collection of dried and pressed specimens of plants, usually mounted or otherwise prepared for permanent preservation and systematically arranged in paper covers placed in boxes or cases.'"
"You know the definition all right," said Tib. "But you can't turn in a definition tomorrow."
"How many flowers did he say we had to have?"
"Fifty."
"We might as well tell him we haven't made them and all flunk the course," said practical Tib. "At least we can all take it again together in the fall."
"But we'll be seniors then!" cried Betsy. "I don't want to be in Gaston's biology again with all the juniors! Why don't we try to make the herbariums tonight? There have to be at least fifty kinds of flowers up on the Big Hill! We can label all night long."
Tacy's eyes began to shine. "Let's try. It would be fun."
"All right," said Tib. "I'm willing if you are. You can come, I think, but we can't let Papa and Mamma know we're awake all night."


After a long night of picking, drying, pasting, and labeling, along with discovering that there was a reason the herbariums had been assigned way back at the beginning of the year, Betsy, Tacy and Tib come to the very realization I came to at around 3 a.m. this morning:

"I think," said Tib, as they walked down Hill Street, "that this was an idiotic thing to do."
Betsy and Tacy grunted.
"Why, I realized last night that I would have enjoyed making a herbarium. I like to do that sort of thing. I could have made a good one."
"So could I," admitted Tacy.
"Well, I couldn't," said Betsy. "But I should have been interested at least. I'm crazy enough about flowers."