Gypsy blood

Today was an idyllic day, and I refused to waste it. Perusing my closest, I selected the trifecta of fall fashion - sweater, skirt, and scarf - and drove to the nearest coffee shop with my Bible, journal, and pen in hand. A steaming hot cup of black coffee and a pane glass window next to busy Monday traffic completed the scene for this hipster-happy moment, where I whiled away my time for hours in absolute bliss.

October.
The month of perfectly gloomy weather, golden trees, and gypsy souls, floating away on dreams like leaves in the wind.

I love summer equally, if not more, than the next person. The splendid summer sun, warm wind, and freedom it brings makes my heart sing and dance.
But there is a certain quality about fall which grips my mind in the best way. The burning passion of colored leaves displayed against the somber grays of cloudy days and rain-swept mornings plunges my thoughts into swirling nonsense and pensive, wandering dreams.  The exuberance of summer is child-like, but the flavor of autumn is age, wisdom, and reflection.

I'd rather the eaves be littered with leaves
     dripping with tears fell'd from heaven.
My soul breathes a sigh, the thunders reply,
     my whimsy and daydreams in tension.

There is something desperately romantic to me about traveling on an autumn day with only one's thoughts for company, staring out the window of a train or a coffeehouse, pondering everything and nothing. You greet a stranger, smile at a child, holding this great secret inside your heart all the while - the secret of yourself, your past, your life, your joys, sorrows, and story.
The definition of a gypsy is a "member of a traveling people." Breathing deeply of this crisp, tangy air awakens the wanderlust and passion for travel in every fiber of my being and calls to the gypsy blood rushing through my quickening heart.

I want to go.
I want to do.
I want to be.

But October chill lulls me to sleep, warmed only by dreams ablaze with October leaves.

Pure Joy

I sprinted up the driveway, breaths coming hard but steady and even, heart pumping strong with each beat to push life through my body. Heavy black clouds pursued my brother and me as we finished our evening run, and the drizzling rain which came in spurts warned of the downpour to come.

Racing against the storm, we climbed the steps to our porch and, turning around to watch, saw the rain pour out of the sky. As a girl who loves a good thunderstorm, and because I felt the rain needed a consolation prize for losing the chase, I ran out from under my shelter to greet the sheets of water.

I fell down spread-eagle on our driveway, the hard concrete at my back and the grey sky above with the raindrops striking my face like kisses from heaven. Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply and reveled in each sensation, each shred of experience, and the thoughts that came with them. My heart swelled, and I laughed aloud at the thought that life is a gift, and it is so good to be alive. God's power was evident in the wind, his gentleness appeared in the caress of the water on my skin, and I couldn't help but imagine him belly-laughing in heaven along with this child of his who was giggling like a little girl at the fun of getting soaked by the storm. Spirit called out to spirit; his to mine, and we lay in the rain together, as Father and daughter.

I also couldn't help but think that with a different perspective, it might have seemed a miserable and hopeless situation. If you looked at me with a narrow focus, I was there on the ground - wet and cold - with no shelter and no immediate or apparent way of escaping the rain. You would have pitied me and thought it was such a shame I was suffering like that.
But I had a different, broader perspective. I knew my house was right behind me, and I could go in when I was done, the wet and the cold wouldn't last forever. There would be food, a towel, hot tea, and my favorite pair of pajama pants. There was joy ahead, but there was also joy in the moment, made sweet by the knowledge of what was to come.

As a Christian, I should have a different perspective on life, in trials and pain. If I remember what is coming, what is ahead - the reward that Jesus promises and the incredible gift of himself and his unveiled presence when we go home to heaven - what joy that should give me in even the darkest trials and situations of life!
They will become bearable and even sweet in a way when I realize that Jesus is lying next to me on the driveway in the rain, and when it is time to go inside the house, I'll hand him a towel, he'll hand me a cup of tea, and we will rejoice in unhindered fellowship together.

I long for that day when Jesus and I will walk in his back door.

The Barista Confessions, part 2

What's your friendly neighborhood barista to do once she is no longer privileged to work behind the bar?

It's been eleven weeks since I last picked up a portafilter and a tamp or poured my best lopsided rosetta.
Not an extravagantly long period of time - I went without using my barista skills for much longer than that last summer break - but it feels much longer in light of the knowledge that I will not be returning to my favorite coffee-stained tan apron and massive poppa pot fresh brew filters in the fall.

All of the busyness and activity throughout my summer so far has been a distraction from remembering life as it was in McConn, but a few things happened recently that sparked a sudden nostalgia and reflection on my drip brew days.

The first happened about a month ago, when my sister and I ran the Sunburst 5K. If working up enough motivation to run 3.1 miles is difficult enough, it's even harder to do at 6:00 in the morning on a Saturday, and four years of college taught me that coffee is the answer to nearly any question, so I found myself at the closest Starbucks at 5:55 AM. Worried that they might not open in time for me to be caffeinated for this race, I glanced over at the hours of operation.
Open at 6:00 AM.
I stood there awkwardly in the front door, just playing with my phone and keys while I watched the lone employee scramble to get everything ready.
It reminded me of 7:00 AM shifts at McConn. As a happily self-proclaimed morning person, I have worked many opening shifts without complaint. But (and I'm going to be completely honest here, so if you're one of my former customers, please don't take offense) mornings don't often go as planned, and it can be frustrating to have a customer walk up to the register 4 or 5 minutes before the official opening time, pressuring you to be ready when your morning tasks have unexpectedly fallen behind schedule and you're still popping muffins in clamshells rather than putting the last touches on timing the shots.

Standing in the Starbucks that Saturday, I encountered for the first time what it is like to be on the other side of the equation. To be the customer awkwardly waiting for a coffee shop to open, rather than the barista frantically trying to set everything in rights behind the bar. To all my customers - I get it now. Too bad this experience didn't come sooner, so I could "get it" when I was still serving you.
I wanted to tell her I understood. I wanted to reassure her that I know what it's like to be in her position, that I didn't mean to cause her stress by being early. But I didn't. Hopefully, she has also experienced the early-morning coffee crunch, and was forgiving of my minor coffee house faux-pas.

Every spring, McConn holds an end-of-the-year party for all the employees. This party happened back in April, but a friend of mine recently finished editing the pictures she took at the party, and she shared them with us a few days ago, which brought on my second wave of nostalgia. As I scrolled through the smiling faces, I felt a strong longing for the community and friendship we shared. It's one of the best things I have ever had the privilege to be a part of.

Picture by Alicia Wines Photography

Finally, I volunteered last week at Camp Geneva, where I worked over the summer in 2012 as a camp nurse. It was an incredible week, full of friends, God, and lessons, but those are stories for another time. For now, I'll simply say that I was catching up with one of the girls at the end of the week when she mentioned her new job as a barista at Biggby Coffee in Holland. Since these are the barista confessions, I will admit that yes, I felt a twinge of envy at her news.
There are days when I have the crazy, hare-brained idea that I can get it all back. In light of my recent frustrations and discouragement with the job market for brand new graduate nurses, I am sorely tempted to ambush the nearest coffee shop and stiff-arm a copy of my resume to the barista behind the bar saying, "I have two years of coffee experience (one as a manager), and I'm desperate to be back where you are currently standing. HIRE ME."
But there are two reasons I refrain from confusing that poor unsuspecting soul. First, no matter how excellent any other coffee shop may be, it will never be McConn - you can't duplicate that place - and I would be bitterly disappointed by the comparison. Secondly, I recognize that part of my life has ended, and God is leading me to other things. It was good for a time, but now is not that time any longer, and he and I will have different adventures as we move on.

I will most likely never work in a coffee shop again, but espresso will forever run through my veins and I will always claim the title of "barista" just as strongly as I claim the title of "nurse". Nurturing the community of my campus, fueling caffeine addictions, and enriching a customer's day through a smile and a laugh brought me feelings of joy that resonate as clearly in my memory as they did in the moment they came, and I will continue to treasure those experiences.

Read from the beginning: The Barista Confessions, part 1

April Problems

Sometimes, I can be a pretty oblivious person.

Even though I’ve been posting words on the interwebs for public consumption ever since I started this blog, it never quite clicked in my mind that people were actually reading what I wrote. Occasionally, I would receive a comment on a post, or a friend would tell me in person, “Hey, I read your blog last night,” but I would simply think “Oh, that’s nice” and move on with my life.

However, the massive response to my last post caught me completely by surprise. Within a day, my page view counter shot into the thousands and people I had never met before at my school were approaching me to say how much they loved my blog.

Oh! Ummm….thank you! I mean…yeah.

Wait, what is this? People are reading what I write? And they like it?

While it was nice for a while, the inevitable happened. As I sit here this morning, the view counter on my blog homepage displays an indelible mark, a spike that vaguely resembles the Eiffel tower or the Washington monument. The more I stare at it, the bigger it gets. This spike has taunted me every time I’ve sat down to write for the past two and a half weeks, and my mind was paralyzed by this pressure to measure up to my previous standard.

There is this awareness that people are actually interested in what I have to say, and I feel compelled to meet their expectations.

Be funny. Do it, April. People want you to be funny.

YOU HAVE TO BE FUNNY RIGHT NOW.

But…but…but…

And so, you have gotten no words from me for the past two weeks.

However, today I am choosing to get over myself and remember that, contrary to what I may think, the world will not end if some random stranger reads my blog and says, “Well, that was stupid.”

I know, right? Life-changing revelation right there. They should just induct me into the World Changers Hall of Fame already. I’d love to have my bronzed, eerily detached and floating head enshrined on a pedestal next to John, oops, David Green and the two-headed Gaither monster.

I thought I learned this lesson once before, but I guess it didn’t stick.

So. Moving on.

This is the fourth month of the year. A very special thirty day period in which I feel like a schizophrenic because my name gets tossed around everywhere. The month of April. It is all my own, my precious.

Contrary to popular opinion, no I was not born in April and therefore my parents did not name me such because of my birth month. Honestly, if my parents had been so dull and uncreative, I would be a little miffed at them. Also, you are not the first person to think that. Sorry to break it to you.

I’m curious as to why people find it so interesting, though. Yes, my name is a month of the year. But think about it. Other people are named after birds. Or plants. Or Biblical ideals.

I’m not complaining. It is a rather unique name, and I’ve never really had to share it with anyone else.

I am a tall person. I tend to tower over my classmates on a normal day.

However, I am also a woman, and I love high heels.

This can be an unfortunate combination.

Here is a diagram to illustrate:

Normal Day

High Heels!!

3 out of the past 4 days, I have worn 4 inch heels. This results in a grand total of approximately 6 feet 2 inches. One of the most entertaining things in the world is watching people’s facial expressions when they turn around and crane their necks to stare up at me, blocking the sun with my head.

It’s the simple joys in life.

Snow White knows what's up

There are so many thoughts in my head right now, all squirming in their seats like a classroom full of preschool children with hands raised in the air, bursting with impatience and energy as they clamor for attention saying, "Pick me! PICK ME!"

This semester, I have been attempting to take seriously the commandment about the Sabbath – taking a period of rest every week to refresh, recharge, and refocus. These past few days, I've been thinking and planning in anticipation of today’s “Sabbath Sunday.” What would I do during my day of rest? I finally decided to write another blog post; it’s been far too long since my last one and so much life has happened in-between then and now.

A little too much life, actually. Sitting here on my couch, scanning the imaginary preschool classroom of my brain, I can’t quite decide on which thought should be selected and developed. At the break-neck pace of my last semester in college, there simply hasn't been time for me to fully think through all of the things that I want to say. With that being said, this post might be a little chaotic, but, after all, who doesn't love a little chaos?

Well, me, actually. I don’t love chaos. Neither do most other people I know.

Okay, never mind.

Have you ever noticed that life seems to come in themes?

Like a chapter in a book or a scene in a movie, each stage or season of life seems to focus on one central issue or point in the plot.

If my story were recorded on the big screen in the pages of a book (psych. Always a book. Books are so much better), well first of all, that would be a really boring book and would probably only be used to prop up the short leg on the kitchen stool. Secondly, it would have the theme of anticipation.

As I think back on all of the conversations with friends, journal entries, and thoughts I've had in the past 3 months, they have all revolved around this anticipation of the future. I'm constantly looking ahead, looking forward, thinking about what is to come.

Going to the Dominican Republic

         My sister's wedding

                  GRADUATION

We all watched Snow White and the Seven Dwarves when we were kids, right? Who else couldn't sleep at night after watching the scene where Snow White is lost in the woods and all the trees become monsters with glowing eyes and gaping mouths, tearing at her skirts with their skeletal branch-hands? 

Girl, I feel ya. No matter where I go, it seems like I can't escape that one question everyone just loves to ask.

"What are you going to do after you graduate?"

I know that no one means any harm by it, and I appreciate the fact that they are genuinely interested in my life, but sometimes I feel like pulling a Snow White - screaming and falling to the floor of the Student Center in a dead faint.

Not really. Although potentially hilarious, that would be excessively dramatic.

The problem is that I'm not really sure what is going to happen at this point. I have ideas. I have dreams. But no feasible, concrete plan of action to get where I want to go. Where do I even start? In 21st century America, the land of options and opportunities, you can get lost before you even begin looking. There are pressures on me from every side, and none of them I need nor want. 

My professors have expectations. They've been developing me and investing in me for the past four years, and I know that they want me to go far and achieve much.

I want to make my parents proud. I'm pretty sure they would still be proud of me if I moved to Southern Arkansas and lived in a hut eating Ramen noodles and wearing burlap sacks for the rest of my life, but still. 

I want to follow God's will. How can I ensure that the plans I am following are what he desires for me to accomplish and not just my own selfish ambitions?

So much to think about. So much to decide.

Wouldn't it be nice if we only had to wrestle with one worry at a time? But no, it doesn't work like that.

In the midst of this graduation fiasco, another nagging little devil has reared its ugly head.

I love my school. It's great. 

However, with a "relationship" chapel every other service, an engagement or two every weekend, and the majority of my friends either taken or "talking", it can be rough place for a chronically single girl to live. I'm pretty sure my flaming ginger locks spring straight from my feisty and fiercely independent personality. Most [if not all] days, I am just fine without a man on my arm. Every so often, though, a wayward lonely thought will pierce my heart and begin a string of questions that I cannot sufficiently answer.

I have a friend who is very similar to me, in both physical appearance and personality. Not only do we have the same taste in guys, but we also have the same level of experience and expertise when it comes to dealing with men. (Read that as: No freaking clue what we're doing) Whenever I would have these wayward thoughts, I would think of her and say to myself, 

"Look at this tall, confident, beautiful young woman who has never dated a man before. There's nothing wrong with her and she's been single her whole life, so there probably isn't anything wrong with me."

Wouldn't you know it, this friend up and found herself a man in the most romantic and fairy-tale way possible. I won't go into details, but there were strangers and coffee shops and serendipitous run-ins involved. While I am beyond happy for her, I can't help but feel slightly envious. It leaves me wondering and questioning what I'm doing wrong. Is there something wrong with me? Do I have some fundamental flaw?

It's not an uncommon question for a woman to have. Put your hands up if you're surprised that a girl is questioning her self-worth based on the attentions, or in this case in-attentions, of a male figure. wow. look at all of those hands.

My struggle right now is how to move beyond that to a place where my identity is so deeply rooted in Christ that the presence or absence of a man in my life does not affect me emotionally. Maybe I will have a relationship some day. Maybe I won't.

Maybe that's not a bad thing.

In any case, I've got a lot to think about and ponder and anticipate in these next few months. I don't know where this life is going, but I guess I'll find out soon, and I'll keep you posted.

Ships and Storms

Picture this:
A ship out on the open water.
Beautiful and delicate, gently bobbing up and down on the rolling ocean swells.
Suddenly, a storm blows through, powerful and oppressive. The strength and might of this storm - the size of the crashing waves, the slyly cutting wind, the currents underneath - overtake the vessel, burying it and submerging it under the water.
This picture is the very definition of the word "Overwhelmed". It means to bury or drown beneath a [huge mass], to defeat completely. When you are drowning or defeated by something, that thing consumes your entire mind, heart, and thoughts. It is the only thing you are afraid of, the only thing you think about, the only thing to which you give your allegiance and that commands your attention and directs your actions.

This semester, I have gained a new appreciation for the word Overwhelmed. I have been buried by responsibilities and time commitments. Everyone and everything seems to be vying for chunks of my time, demanding that I give them my full energy and attention. My time is being ripped out of my hands until I'm left with nothing and feeling exhausted and discouraged. It caught me completely by surprise, too. I entered this semester full of high hopes and expectations, beyond excited to dive head-first into my last semester of college. How was I to know that when I hit the water, it would swallow me whole and not let go, holding me down until it feels like I can't breathe? Drowning. Panicking. Fighting for a way to escape. Feeling like, at any second, I could fall to pieces.

This is what happens to me when I allow myself to be eaten away with the stress that is so present and so evident in my life at this time.

But.

When I think about the state of being overwhelmed, I realize that you can really only be that way with one thing at a time. My thoughts can't be filled and my actions directed by two simultaneous masters. I can't be completely submerged by two different things. That's not how it works.
So. What if, instead of drowning and panicking in my own personal storm of stress, worry, and fear, I allow myself to be taken over by God's grace, mercy, goodness, and love? Losing myself completely in the fierceness of His power, the might of His love, and the intensity of His provision? If I am overwhelmed by God, He will be the only one I revere. The only one I think about. The only one to which my heart bows its knee and owes its allegiance. My motivation will no longer come from fear over what seems like an impossible task but from love for a God that meticulously constructed every molecule in my frail human body.

The other day, I went to my Bible for encouragement. Before even opening the covers, I pleaded with God to speak with my heart, because I was [am] weary and afraid.
Tears streamed down my face as I read these precious words:

O Lord, you have searched me

and you know me.

You know when I sit and when I rise;

you perceive my thoughts from afar.

You discern my going out and my lying down;

you are familiar with all my ways.

Before a word is on my tongue

you know it completely, O Lord.

You hem me in - behind and before;

You have laid your hand upon me.

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,

too lofty for me to attain.

Where can I go from your Spirit?

Where can I flee from you presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there;

if I make my bed in the depths, you

are there.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn,

if I settle on the far side of the sea,

even there your hand will guide me,

your right hand will hold me fast.

If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me

and the light become night around me,"

even the darkness will not be dark to you;

the night will shine like the day,

for darkness is as light to you.

For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother's womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and

wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you

when I was made in the secret place.

When I was woven together in the depths

of the earth,

your eyes saw my unformed body.

All the days ordained for me

were written in your book

before one of them came to be.

HOW PRECIOUS TO ME are your thoughts,

O God!!

How vast is the sum of them!

Were I to count them,

they would outnumber the grains of sand,

When I awake,

I am still with you.

If only you would slay the wicked, O God!

Away from me, you bloodthirsty men!

They speak of you with evil intent;

your adversaries misuse your name.

Do I not hate those who hate you, O Lord,

and abhor those who rise up against

you?

I have nothing but hatred for them;

I count them my enemies.

SEARCH ME, O GOD, and know my heart;

test me and know my anxious thoughts.

See if there is any offensive way in me,

and lead me in the way everlasting.

In that moment, I was truly overwhelmed by God. There was nothing and no one else in my thoughts. Who is this God?! This God that has the cares of the world on his mind - billions of people crying out in the pain of their humanity - and yet still cares enough about me to direct my attention to this LOVE LETTER of peace found in the psalms that soothes my deepest anxieties. 

Will those responsibilities go away? No. Will that stress dissipate? Not likely. But I will not allow it to defeat me completely. I will not allow it to consume my life and become my master. I will carry the peace and presence of God in my heart, letting the joy and love of Christ bowl me over and dictate my actions.

Update:
It is now nearly a week after I wrote this post, and things have settled down slightly. I'm still as busy as ever, but I feel more peaceful and capable of completing the tasks laid out for me to do. I'm updating this because I was reading the Psalms again this morning and found this absolute gem, which reminded me of what I had written here last Friday:

Psalm 107:23-32

"Others went out on the sea in ships;

they were merchants on the mighty waters.

They saw the works of the LORD,

his wonderful deeds in the deep.

For he spoke and stirred up a tempest 

that lifted high the waves.

They mounted up to the heavens and

went down to the depths;

in their peril their courage melted away.

They reeled and staggered like drunken

men;

they were at their wits' end.

Then they cried out to the LORD in their 

trouble,

and he brought them out of their

distress.

He stilled the storm to a whisper;

the waves of the sea were hushed.

They were glad when it grew calm,

and he guided them to their desired

haven.

Let them give thanks to the LORD for his

unfailing love

and his wonderful deeds for men.

Let them exalt him in the assembly of the 

people

and praise him in the council of the 

elders.

God. is. so. good.

Lottie, Sam, and John walked into a bookstore...

The end has come!

Yesterday was the last day of final exams, and I think a friend of mine put it best when he said, "I think I'm going to make T-shirts that say: 'I survived Fall semester 2012'." While this might not have been my most academically difficult semester, it was definitely the busiest and (I think) the most challenging as I learned and grew in so many different ways. Juggling a part-time job, senior-level coursework, 12 hour clinical rotations in Indianapolis, and a social life was more draining than I realized, and I pulled into my driveway last night thinking that a break was long overdue. 

Our school gives us three and a half weeks for Christmas holiday, and I fully intend on optimizing every minute. Most of my friends spent their first morning of vacation sleeping in. That's actually a pretty reasonable thing to do...sometimes I long for normalcy. In case this hasn't already been established, I am not what most people consider normal or rational. Most people like afternoons. Or evenings. Or Fridays. Times when it is socially acceptable to be an alert and functioning human being. I like Mondays. And mornings. I have an irrational love for mornings. I'm usually perfectly happy to be awake at 6:30. And yes, that is AM. 

I also love reading. For fun. And books. Books are fantastic.

Yeah...like I said. Not normal.

So, on my first day of vacation, I set my alarm for 7:15 (it is the first day of holiday after all, I'll let myself sleep in a little bit) and did what any self-respecting book geek with an active library card and three weeks of free time would do - I went treasure hunting in the local libraries surrounding my hometown. After gleefully prowling the aisles of three separate systems, I was not disappointed as my efforts unearthed a heaping mountain of gold. I always savor the expression on a librarian's face when I plop a stack of books on the counter and hold out my card with an almost manic grin. They might not all get read in the time I have before spring semester, especially with all the other things I've planned, but a valiant effort will be made.

Near the end of my book-hunting, my dad and I stumbled across this dusty, second-hand bookshop tucked away in one of the many street-side storefront niches that give small towns their charm and character. My heart skipped along in a joyful beat when I stepped through the door. The entire room was literally filled from floor to ceiling with books. All kinds of books - falling to pieces, fresh off the printer, well-known and accepted, obscure and unfamiliar, classics, flops, history, fiction, biographies, textbooks.

If I had opened the door to find a room full of diamonds, I would have been less ecstatic.

Why is that? What is it about books that captures the heart and tugs at the mind?
Imagine this: imagine that you had the opportunity, for a short moment, to abandon yourself and live vicariously through the thoughts, experiences, and senses of another person. Imagine that there was a way for that person's feelings, emotions, ideas, and concepts of the world to be snugly packaged in a compact form and transmitted to your brain in such a way that you understood what life looks like to them. That is what words are. That is what a book does.
Books are about communication and connection. That is what makes them so valuable. Even if a certain book never earns any awards or becomes a national best-seller, it is still important because someone somewhere took the time to write those words and put pen to paper. They are valuable because they're someone's thoughts in physical form. How powerful! Books provide people with an intimate connection, one mind to another in this human experience. Not only can that connection happen between individuals within the same generation, but it can cross generations, decades, centuries! A book that I hold in my hand is a tangible link to the past - I can be close to a person that I've never met before, who might not even live while I'm living!

Part of the reason I was so captivated by the used bookstore was because I am grateful that someone was making the effort to preserve all of those words. All those thousands of words on thousands of pages written by people across the globe during different times, maybe in different languages, all pulling us together in a common unity.
Perhaps this is all a bit romanticized, but just think - that is how I see the world. And now that you've read what I've written, you have experienced that vision and have shared with me in a small part of my life.

What an incredibly beautiful concept.

"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies, said Jojen. The man who never reads lives only one."

~George R.R. Martin

#RealTalk

As I was sitting at my table in the Jackson library this lazy Friday afternoon surrounded by forgotten books and papers, daydreaming about warm kitchens and crafty projects, and feeling super hipster in my thrift store altered skirt and homemade legwarmers, I suddenly remembered that I created a blog once. A procrastination break is always a good thing, so I reminisced about my once-ambitious intentions of spreading clever ideas and useful tips to anyone who might be interested (and who wouldn’t be interested in what I have to say). 

Well, we can see how long those ambitious intentions lasted. After a few attempts at this blogging thing, I quickly realized two things. The first is that blogging is actually a lot of work. I had this beautiful vision in my head that I could effortlessly be a witty, interesting person departing my wisdom to the masses through my well-written – wait, what? Blogging requires me to write? Well, that’s a problem because I hate writing. Three full years of college plus some change has taught me that a quality paper does not simply spring from my brain through my fingers to settle gracefully onto the beautiful white electronic page on my computer screen. My papers are born. If you have ever witnessed a live birth, you need no further explanation. To those of you who had never had the privilege, let me elaborate. Birthing is an extremely painful and laborious process that involves blood, sweat, guts, and tears, the occasional scream, and plenty of pitiful whimpers and pleas for it all to end. 

The second thing I realized is that, contrary to my egotistical belief that people were just waiting en masse to linger on every word that I might say, not a lot of people were interested in reading my blog. Granted, it might have helped if I had tried writing more than three posts and advertised it a bit more, but I didn’t think of those things when I was shamelessly wallowing in discouragement and self-pity (hyperbole, guys. Please don’t take that one seriously). I felt like a battle-weary kitten presenting my hard-earned, bloody, dead mouse (seems legit, that’s a pretty accurate description of my writing) to my unappreciative owners. Crushing. Basically, I was spending a lot of time working on something that no one was reading. Ain’t no body got time fo dat! 

After a sufficient period of self-reflection and study, I got over myself and realized that it really doesn’t matter whether or not anyone reads this. Normally, talking to yourself is the first sign that you’re losing it, but since I lost it a long time ago, nobody needs to be bothered. Anyway, I had a conversation with myself that went something like this:

“April, do you enjoy doing this?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then.”

Yeah, I know, I talk too much. Workin’ on it. Basically, this is something that I slightly enjoy doing. Not more than eating. Or looking through clothes on Pinterest that I will never be able to afford. Or doing dishes. But it is something that is marginally entertaining. So, by golly, I’ll continue to do it! So here we go, blogging round two.

And if you just happen to want to follow along, I suppose that’s okay, too.

Summer dreams

It's 65 and sunny outside, and the spring fever is setting in early.

My mind keeps wandering to lovely thoughts of the beach in the hot summer sun, shorts, biking, and eating mom's potato salad on the back porch at sunset.

6 weeks left of school?! How can they possibly expect me to concentrate when my heart lies with my exciting summer plans? England in May; camp nurse internship through June, July, and August; turning 21; and hours of warmth and sunshine. My professors must be crazy.

Quick side-note: thrift store shopping is the best. I used to hate it because it made me feel poor, but yesterday I got the cutest business professional outfit for $3! I'm definitely a fan.

Random beauty tip to make this post at least somewhat in line with the purpose of my blog: Try shaving your legs with conditioner that you need to get rid of, then apply lotion after. I tried it last night, and today my legs are the smoothest they've ever been! I didn't even use a new razor head, it was an old one that I need to change. It's a neat way to be thrifty and beautiful.

Beginnings

So I finally did it.

The twenty-first century world is full of electronics, internet, texting, and Facebook which all leads to non-existent interpersonal interaction. Everyone seems to have the narcissistic view that their thoughts and ideas are so interesting and engaging that everyone on the internet is dying to read about them.
I have caved and joined the ranks. Thus, this blog is born.

My justification for starting is that this blog will be based on something useful and practical (hair tutorials) and thus will not be a complete waste of time. I'll occasionally post about something else - like clothes or food or other types of things that girls enjoy - but I'll do my best to make sure that everything I say is interesting or useful.

You may be wondering why I'm doing this and where the name came from. It's okay if you're not, 'cause I'm still going to tell you. (...that was supposed to be funny, but when I read it I just sound rude. Note to self: practice written humor)
I'm starting to blog because I love my hair: the color, the texture, the thickness; and I love styling it in different ways. I really enjoy playing with other girl's hair as well and showing them easy ways to make it look great. I've always been frustrated by my inability to find good, easy-to-follow sources of step-by-step hair tutorials that are free. I am fairly good at explaining things and I have a wide variety of styles up my sleeve, so I thought "Why not do it myself?"
As for the name, while I don't in any way consider myself a poetry reader, there are a few pieces that I really enjoy. One of them is Sabrina Fair by John Milton. It tells the story of a mermaid who saves a virgin. The part I like best reads:

Sabrina fair
Listen where thou art sitting
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of lilies knitting
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;
Listen for dear honour's sake,
Goddess of the silver lake,
Listen and save.

It is very descriptive and paints pictures in my mind of the way her red hair twirls around the lily roots. So, I figured the phrase "amber dropping hair" was perfect for the name of a hair tutorial blog. Well, it makes sense to me, anyway.

Well, now you know a little about me and this blog. So, let's get started!