Living Happiness ...

Dear friend:

It has been a long time since I've talked to you. I mean really talked to you. And your silences over the last few weeks have shown me that you, too, have noticed and missed our time together. I don't blame you. I can't blame you. I would feel the same way were I in your shoes. But I hope we can mend things.

It has been a long, hard summer for me. Do you know this? Maybe you do. Maybe you don't. Maybe you've reached the point where you think, "Sure I understand, CG, but it's not all about you all of the time, now is it?" Well … you'd be right about that, too.

Anyways, since it's been so long since we had a good catch-up, I would like to tell you about my summer. It's not that I haven’t wanted to share it with you in the first place, it's just been very hard to do so.

As you know, I came back here to the States for a three-month stay. Did you know that this is the first time in three years I'd been back? Did you also know this wasn't really a trip I wanted to take? Yes, it's true. If I'd had my druthers, I would have been in Crete this summer, making my new home a home and spending glorious time with my beautiful fiancé. But I am not there, and I did not have my druthers. Why? you might ask. Well, the truth is I had to come back in order to be married legally in Greece. And there were no shortcuts to my time here -- three months it must be with no ifs, ands, or buts. It has sucked.

Don't get me wrong. There are definite perks to being back. For starters, I can walk into any shop and speak to anyone at any time, and whoever it is understands what I'm saying. This saves me so much time, and it's so nice to make a joke and have someone understand my humor. I was beginning to think I just wasn't funny any more! :)

It's also been nice to see people I long haven't seen, to know that they're just down the street or a car-ride away. When an ocean's been between you, this can't be appreciated enough. And I've enjoyed having coffees, seeing movies, and going to cookouts on a warm summer evenings with friends.

But maybe you didn't know that it's also been hard for me to discover that people don't really care all that much about my stories, that very few of them really want to see my pictures, and that a lot of my friends are even less enthusiastic to share about themselves. Conversation eventually falters. I cast about for things to say. We say our "see you laters" and I know it's probably the last time we'll see each other for a very long time.

It has been a lonely summer for me. Does this surprise you? It has surprised me, too. I have often tried to find things to do to while away the hours, but when I only have one online course to teach and no one is hiring (even in the service sector) because of a sluggish economy, this is a task that has been hard to do. Because you are compassionate, you can probably imagine then that this makes my homesickness for G all the more poignant. He is my best friend, and he is now two plane rides, an ocean, and a sea away.

I can see you're wondering, though, "But if this is true, then why I haven't seen more of you? Shouldn't this have given you more time for me?"

You are right, of course. Yes, it should have. But I just haven't known how to be with you. For, you see, for me to have my relationship with you, I feel that I need to have something to give to you. And this summer, I have felt that I've had very little to give. I have needed you, wanted your company, but I have had no token to offer you in exchange for your kindness. And in recognizing this, I have sometimes consciously and sometimes unconsciously pushed you away.

You have not done anything wrong. You are beautiful as always. But I have needed this time for myself, to replenish my stores, to deal with a sea of sediment that has been stirred up by my return here and is still in the process of settling. I have wanted to share this with you just as much as you have probably wanted to hear it, but I have not been able to articulate most of it, even to myself. Had you been able to physically come over, you would have seen our evening to be one of lopsided conversation. I would have been bad company. You would have gone home early, fed up with having to carry the entire discussion. Would you really have wanted this?


I have learned much about myself this summer--some of it good, some of it not-so-good. I have had days where I have been full of boundless energy and my usual dose of optimism, but I have had just as many (if not more) days where it has been a struggle for me to get out of bed, where my day has been a battle between what my body wants to do (positively nothing) and my mind urges me to do (tasks, errands, anything to keep a routine and stay on track). You could probably accurately say I've been depressed. And probably, in the goodness of your heart, you may wonder why I didn't come to you with this. And I understand this, too.

I didn't come to you because I knew what you were going to say. Or … at least I thought I knew what you were going to say. You have been so wise, so caring, so present for so long. I have heeded your words and read your thoughts so often that I felt I knew your answers without even having to ask my question. This wasn't fair to you, I know. No one wants someone else to put words in their mouth for them or deprive them of their chance to have a say. You're right. And for that, I'm sorry. I've probably done us both a disservice by remaining mum, but I honestly thought it was for the best. That and I just haven't had the gumption to do otherwise. I do apologize to you for keeping you out of the loop and for perhaps depriving you of your own chance to give (something you love to do!) and, therefore, be the blessing you want (and love) to be.

I don't know where we go from here because I still don't know how much I have to give you, or even that I can give at all. I am slowly regaining ground, the sediment of my internal sea is finally settling, and I am beginning to feel like my old self again. But it may be a while before I feel strong. Can you understand this and be patient?

I did want you to know I've missed you. And I wanted you to know why I've been so "absent." It is not because of anything you've done, and if you can think of a way that we can begin reconnecting again, I would open to hearing it. I look forward to what you have to say.

With lots of love,


flickr photo of dog at seaside by Ingrid0804

A few weeks ago, I began a series of posts that shared with you the story of how I began my journey away from a typical, suburban life in the States to a very non-typical, non-suburban life in Greece. The last post on June 14th left you (and found me) on a plane bound for Germany after having left my corporate job and life behind. The sky was the limit. Possibilities were endless. But what would happen?

Even though many of you know how the story has "ended" (I am indeed living in Crete and am engaged to the most wonderful man in the world), there are still a few steps left in the telling of this tale that I want to share with you.

As you have already read, piece after piece fell into place for me after my stay at the monastery. But as you will see now, such ease of movement is not always the only mark of taking steps in the right direction. Most of the time, we also meet with opposition. We are challenged. Our faith is tested. Will we move forward? Do we have the faith to? Our responses to these tests will determine the answer; they will be the difference between our walking … and flying.

Here, now, is how my story continued to unfold, much of which is taken from my actual journal entries at the time. This is how Greece and I began to choose each other and how I went from walking in faith to soaring on its wings … but not without a few tumbles from the tree.


July 8, 2006 ~ Crete
It’s 11:00 p.m. here on Saturday night in Hania, and I've just gotten back from a day-long 13-kilometer hike through the longest gorge in Europe. It’s cool out, the stars are bright and the moon is almost full. I’m in my green pajamas, freshly showered after the long day’s trek. I sit on my patio and hear the sounds of Grecian rap down on the waterfront, people laughing and yelling, and far-off dogs barking.

This week has been intense. 12-hour days have been the norm as I’ve begun the course that will end with my TEFL certification. We begin at 10:00 a.m. and, even though classes end around 1:15, the day really ends around 9:00 p.m. Those intervening hours are full of observation, lesson planning, and (yes!) teaching already.

I have been very content here these past days in Hania, despite my overwhelming fatigue with the mad pace of the first few days. It is hard to put into words the way something can feel right in every way, but I know this is exactly where I’m meant to be.

July 18, 2006 ~ Crete
It’s Tuesday evening. I am ready for bed but my heart aches with the beauty of my being here and the painful realization that my departure from here is less than two weeks away. I do not want to leave.

Words can’t even begin to describe the way I’m feeling right now. The memories running through my mind – the Hania coastline at night from the back of a motorcycle with the wind through my hair, coffee on a terrace overlooking the entire harbour on a Friday night with a cute boy with an Aussie accent, dancing the night away in a local club … .

How can I capture the feel of this evening? The crash of waves on the shore, the night sounds of insects, and the faint clink of dinners being had on balconies above and beside. Smells of pasta and garlic.

My heart aches with this beauty, with the fact that I don’t want to leave, with the fact that I want to savor every moment, with the mourning of all the moments that are already past. Life is so amazing, and I am a part of it. This, this I do not want to forget. I am. I AM.


August 5, 2006
I am on my flight from Athens to London, and I am sad. I want to be in Hania. My heart is breaking!

I wish I had assurances. Assurances of what is next for me. Assurances that everything will be okay. But that is not how life works. And that is not how I’ve been living my life for the last nine months.

Will my next steps be led with my head or my heart? For once, I want to say, “With my heart.” I want to continue to risk and be willing to say, “This is what I want. This is what I know to be true.” To do any less would cheat myself.

Labor Day Weekend 2006 ~ North Carolina
It is another quiet evening. This time there is no balcony, no patio, no sound of waves crashing on the shore or far-off dogs barking. Only the faint creaks of my upstairs neighbor walking across our wooden floors and the CD of Greek songs that was made for me a week before I left Hania.

I thought I would sit down tonight and write my story of the past year. It has been an amazing one. One that I could aptly begin, “Once upon a time there was a girl ... .” But I think it will be saved for another night.

Rather, on the anniversary of my awakening – for that’s what it was really - I went from being a somnambulator to actually living my life – on this anniversary I have to stop and pause and in gratefulness acknowledge the goodness that this year has been, the goodness that this coming year will be.

I don’t know what my future holds, even what the next few weeks will hold, except that I want to return to Greece – or get as close to it as I can – but I’ve learned to trust this path I’m on and the spirit (God, Being, Mystery . . . whatever you want to call it) that leads me on it. And I can say that I am excited to see what comes next. And I am confident that it is far better than even I’ve imagined.

Sometimes we have to risk everything to discover that we’ve risked nothing. Because … what is it to walk once you’ve discovered that you can fly?


September 19, 2006 ~ Crete
Dear God:

It’s me. I sit outside on my patio in Hania and am feeling really overwhelmed. I have only been here a few days. I have the daunting task ahead of me of looking for a job among 114 schools here and, as G would tell it, I must do this this week. I feel inadequate for the job and scared.

I don’t know what you have in my future. You asked me weeks ago what I wanted and I half-formulated a thought … . I think I still want that, but my emotions are not so trustworthy right now. I hardly know which end is up. But you know what I want. And you know what I need. What I am asking for today is your comfort, your shoulder to cry on and lean on, your strength. Give me strength today. Give me grace. Help me to allow you to unfold my life, even as I am an active participant in that unfolding.



September 27, 2006
Today I did not rally. Today I did not pound the pavement. Today I was not remotely productive. Instead, I arose, ate breakfast, decided that the day still looked like a bit too much for me and went back to bed. When I got up again, I decided that clean unmentionables are a must, even in a country that is iffy on air-conditioning, demands that you not flush your toilet paper, and is covered in dust everywhere you go. So, I spent 45 minutes hand-washing these unmentionables and had the epiphany that this is about the same amount of time it would take these two loads to go through my Maytag.

Lay by the pool. Ate. Lay by the pool again. Napped. Checked email. Then decided to be productive and found myself in BFE on some god-forsaken street looking for a private school that at this point I didn't even give one flying fig about. So I answered the call of the gyro instead and savored every greasy, french-fry laden, tzatziki-dripping bite. And now I am headed home to listen to my new Greek neighbor yell on the phone to her boyfriend all night.

I say, at least today, anyway, 'Fuck it. I'm over this.'

I think I'm going to go have some ice cream ... .

September 28, 2006
I wish I knew where this journey was going to take me. Or even what the next few weeks hold. But, then again, maybe I don't. What kind of romance is it when you know every move of your lover beforehand? No. I'd rather be surprised, I guess.

Somehow Hania and I have chosen each other. Is this vocation? Is this calling? On an elemental level, I answer, 'Yes.'

But I say to my lover (Hania, not G), 'Speak louder, sweetie. Let me hear you choose me. You know you already have my heart. Now promise me yours.'

That job is just around the corner … .


October 2006
I sit on the balcony of my sea-view apartment and watch the waves as they thunder in. There is nothing silent or soothing about what they are doing. They are thundering and rolling and roiling and crashing, the sand from the sea floor churning its way to the top of the mighty crests and coloring the mighty swells a deep orange. The wind howls unrelentingly and the sky throws down great sheets of rain. I feel like I am watching myself. This match between my inner turmoil and such outer turmoil is comforting. It soothes me. I cannot bring myself to go inside.

I have been here for one month. Thirty days ago today I landed back on Cretan soil, having completed my TEFL course and returned to the States to sell my car and most of my possessions. I now have only three suitcases of belongings to my name. I have come back in order to have no regrets, to truly knock on every door of opportunity before surrendering to the inevitability of a teaching career in Asia. I gave myself thirty days: find a teaching job in Greece, or go to Taiwan. The deadline is today, and I have not found one.

I have knocked on every door, called every school, walked miles in the heat and dust, and no one has hired me. My heart is in pieces. I don't want to go to Taiwan.

November 2006 ~ Almyros, Greece
It is my 31st birthday and I am sitting in a small café in a small Greek town a few hours north of Athens. I have been teaching for three weeks and am seated next to one of my new colleagues, Maria, who has arranged a small party for me to my complete and utter surprise. With us are her daughter, and her best friend (my new Greek tutor) with her two daughters. They have brought gifts and a cake, even though they don't know me. I open the gift bags to find a candle, a scarf, a thong, and a new sweater because the cold weather has already begun and my own sweaters have not yet reached me from the States. We laugh over coffee and cake, and they try to teach me Greek words. Lucky for me, they all speak English, too.

I am here because of the grace of other people. A job came through two days after my thirty-day deadline … a phone call from a school in northern Greece looking to replace a teacher. But my program director offered it to another student, and I was hurt, outraged: how could she do this to me?! This student had become a friend of mine, though, and her heart was in the Middle East. Knowing she didn't want to remain in Greece, she gave the job to me. We learned of the position on a Wednesday. By Monday I was teaching.

I have just come home now to a message from G. He is still in Crete but he wishes me a very happy birthday. I look at my little pile of gifts and the card that everyone has signed. And I think back to one year ago and the day I left the corporation behind. It would be easy to think that that's the day I took my first steps away from a life that had become too small for me. But really I know that the first steps I took were earlier than that. They were the steps of me walking to breakfast at a Trappist monastery in the wee hours of the morning. They were the steps that changed my life.



All peace to all of you.
Namaste,

When I was a young girl, I grew up hearing a slew of words that are seldom found in our lexicon today -- salvation, redemption, atonement, ...-- because I grew up in a very religious home where the sun around which our daily lives revolved was the church we were a part of.

Over the years, I have changed my orbit quite a bit and moved away from this earlier world view. I am now more open and inclusive in my views of God, myself and the Universe. But my amazement at the mystery of these will never go away. If anything, I'm even more amazed!

Despite the fact that I rarely think in theological terms anymore, some of the words from that earlier lexicon still linger in the language by which I see and experience my world. And two of those words have come to my mind again and again over the past week. They are grace and mercy, and they go hand in hand.

What are grace and mercy, though? We use these terms all the time in daily little expressions: Mercy me. Lord, have mercy! Will you grace us with your presence? He handled that with such grace and dignity. But what do they mean when we use them together?

I was lucky a few years ago to have someone explain this to me: To receive grace is to receive a gift that you have done nothing to deserve. To receive mercy is to not receive the punishment that you definitely do deserve.

To speak more plainly, grace is the gift under the Christmas tree even though you've been nothing but naughty, the bonus in your salary even though you really came in too late in the year to qualify, the credit you get for work on a project you barely (if even) showed up for.

And mercy, mercy is the prosecutor deciding not to press charges, the alleviated sentence at a trial, the stay of execution the night a prisoner is to be hung.

Both of these, grace and mercy, are supreme gifts. They are also humbling. And when you receive them, if the eyes of your heart are open in any way, you thank your lucky stars for them.

This is how I felt this past week when I had my life held up in high relief before my eyes like a topographical map: my highs and lows etched out in supreme clarity, my steps along the journey marked out in little red dots from one place to another. Some of what I saw I was proud of, but other things I saw gave me pause: bad turns, missteps, people hurt, friendships lost, loyalties betrayed. It was not pretty, and I felt sick to my stomach at some of what I saw, mortified, ashamed, and sorrowful above all.

At work in the middle of all this, however, were two little things called grace and mercy. The Universe had felt it fitting to give me this glimpse, painful though it was (a bit like Scrooge and his Christmas ghosts), and say to me, "All is not lost, CG. Let's make some changes." This was grace.

And then came mercy. As I turned to the people in my life whom I'd hurt and began to ask forgiveness, I saw over and over again love and acceptance. "Of course", "No worries", "Water under the bridge", "It's alright", "You're human. Everyone makes mistakes." "None of us is perfect." These are the words I have heard repeatedly over the last days, and my shame and sorrow have been transformed into humility and joy.


The amazing thing about grace and mercy is that, when they are extended to you, it is that much easier to extend them to yourself. I have been able to say, "CG, I forgive you. Let's get on now with the business of living. Onward and upward."

I've discovered that they're not gifts you can hold onto and closet away, either. Once you've received them, you've got to hand them back out again and see the light on someone else's face as they realize they are loved and forgiven. At least, this is how I've felt.

So I share this post with you today as just one more way of shining some hope and light into your world, to remind those of you who might need it that all is not lost no matter how badly we might think we've screwed things up.



Namaste and peace be with you,

I am very lucky to have a dear friend who is also a talented and emerging artist. Since the spring we met four years ago, I have never known her not to be creating art in some form … whether it be something as simple as homemade bread or a knitted scarf or something more complex: her paintings.

Gina Pruette has a remarkable gift for seeing the beauty in the material objects that fill our lives everyday. Often we are oblivious to the ways they touch us, shape us, mold us, what they might say about us, but Gina is not oblivious to their power and uses them as the focal points of her paintings. As she reveals in her Artist Statement,

Since Gina began her Block Series last year -- a series of still life oil paintings dedicated to the study of objects that her daughter used in play -- I have been swept in by her rendering of these objects (blocks, balls, teacups) and prompted to think more deeply about the fundamental themes of who we are and how we play and how play (and the objects of play) shape our identity from infancy onward. As Gina says so eloquently,

Needless to say, I have been wanting to introduce Gina to you for some time now, because whether we are writers, photographers, musicians, or dancers, we are all artists and can learn much from one another.

I asked her a few months ago if she would agree to an interview, and she delightfully agreed. So, without further ado, here are the details of that lovely chat, with some glimpses of a few of the lovely still lifes she has completed, and of which more can be found at her site: www.ginapruette.com. Please feel free to comment and ask any questions you have of Gina, as well.

You have a rich background in art that includes formal training in studio art and art history, and you have also been employed by and volunteered for various arts-related non-profits over the years. How did your decision to pursue painting on a more active level come about?

I think that, like other vocations, the creative life tends to find you rather than the other way around. I have been painting for as long as I can remember and I grew up in a family of artists and art lovers, so the question I wrestled with over the years wasn’t really if but when to pursue it as a career. Shortly after Stella was born I knew I was ready.

As a relatively new mom, how do you find (or create) the time to paint?

I prioritize painting over other interests. There’s enough time for everything in life if we strip away the non-essential clutter of existence and throw ourselves into the things that really give our lives meaning. I paint whenever I can. I paint when Stella’s at preschool, during grandparent visits, nap time, evenings, weekends when my husband is entertaining her. I often research and plan new projects during snack time. Stella and I have even started sketching together!

What has inspired you the most in watching Stella's play?

Her enjoyment of process over outcomes. Stella loves to stack blocks, shovel sand, pick flowers … but she has little interest in standing back to admire her new tower or hole or bouquet. The act of engaging with her world is more important than any prize or achievement. What a beautiful way to live!

What has been most gratifying for you, especially as your work has garnered more attention and come to the awareness of so many more people around you?

One of my friends in college was an accomplished poet, and she described to me how she saw the world in words. She would walk down the street and hear “grass” and “pavement” before she ever really registered those things visually. My language is color. I walk down the street and sense greens, blues, neutrals, etc. before anything else. I think people each have their own language they use to understand the world and communicate with others. So, the most gratifying experience for me as an artist is the knowledge that I have been able to convey my ideas to others through my medium.

What are your future goals as an artist? What are some of the other areas you would like to explore?

Scale is the new frontier for my art. I work in restricted studio space at present and producing larger scale pieces has some practical issues. However, I’m working through different options for opening the door to scale and hope to have some oversized pieces ready for exhibition this summer. My goals are to continue to increase exposure for my work and to impact as many people as possible.

When you not being a wife, mom, daughter, friend or artist, who are you? Tired! Seriously, I can’t imagine my life without wearing one of those hats at any given time.

What makes you laugh? Very dry humor and the absurd. Between my husband and daughter I have no shortage of laughter throughout the day!

When do you feel cherished? I love when my family and friends share their art with me.

If you were to choose 5 physical artifacts that represent who you are, what would you choose? (These can be jewelry, photos, a book, clothing, food products, found objects,…anything physical.)

Raw umber
Grass-stained jeans
Sand dollar
The Wrath of Khan
Champagne

If you could give your 20-year old self some advice, what would it be? What would you tell her? Study less, sketch more.

If you enjoyed this interview today, you can learn more about Gina and see more of her paintings at www.ginapruette.com or in her new book Portraits of Play . You are also welcome to leave Gina a comment here, where she will respond over the next few days.

Namaste and peace to all of you,

It should come as no surprise to most of you that in addition to my penchant for Vegas weddings and dancing at the drop of a hat, I am also a sippy, soppy, drippy, droppy, romantic comedy mush. Yes, I confess: My name is Chania Girl, and I like chick flicks.

One of my favorite indulgences is a little movie called The Mirror Has Two Faces starring one of my favorite divas, Barbra Streisand. And while it definitely took a beating from the critics when it appeared, I still get a kick out of it.

The movie is basically an ugly duckling story: "unattractive" grown woman blossoms under love's eye and then comes into her own as a beauty who both loves herself and is loved by others. We see the leading character, Rose, rise from self-loathing to self-acceptance. And we come to understand that the two faces in her mirror are the face that she sees (ugly, plain, unlovable) and the face that is reflected back to her by the people in her life. Convinced at a young age of her plainness by the people around her, she has lived into it, accepting it, never once questioning that she too could be (is, was) a beauty. And it is only through the intervention of her mother that she is finally able to see herself anew through her own eyes … as someone beautiful.

This movie came to my mind recently as I've dealt with various personal events in my life. I often struggle myself with Rose's ugly duckling syndrome. I look into the mirror of my soul and I wonder: What is true here? Am I really seeing myself? Or am I seeing what I have been told to see? And, of course, it is easier for me to believe the bad than the good.

One of the fears in my life is the fear of self-delusion. I try very hard to be both honest with others and, most importantly, with myself. Because if honesty does not begin with me, then where does it begin?

And this means that I frequently fret and worry: Am I really who I think I am? Or am I deceiving myself? What is the truth here? How can I know it? Whom do I believe?!

These are not questions that I have found satisfactory answers to. For while there is a part of me that believes who I am resides deep within me, I question how objective this sense of self can really be when we hear tales of murderers with Messiah complexes who believed they were killing in God's name. Surely these murderers believed that they were holy instruments, and yet the carnage they leave in their wake suggests anything but.

What can we say then? It seems the external circumstances of our own lives and the response of the people around us are of importance, too, revealing the truth of our beliefs. The litmus test, if you will.

So what does that mean for me? For you? For me, it means that I am still in a quandary about which face in the mirror is mine. Do I believe the face *I* see? Or the face others see?

And that is why I ask of you today:


Namaste and peace to all of you today,

I have been very lucky recently to have been presented with two little blogging awards:


The Awe-summm Award was presented to me by August Street, and the Kreative Blogger Award came to me from Evolving Scenes. If you have not made the acquaintance of these two blogs and the women behind them, I encourage you to check them out. There are wonderful things to be had by doing so.

The great thing about these awards is that they ask you to pay things forward. If you've been highlighted as a recipient, it is asked of you to do likewise and highlight other Awe-summm or Kreativ bloggers you know and let the spotlight rest on them for a little while. And I am very pleased to be able to do just that.

7 Kreativ/Awesumm Bloggers That You Might Just Love + 2 (Because I Like to Bend Rules a Bit)

1. Amanda Linehan at Look Far
2. Caroline at Whimsical Whispers
3. Julie at Random Meanderings
   
4. Kirwin at Graceful Creative
5. Paisley at Paisley Thoughts
6. Positively Present at Hope Springs Internal
7. RML at Being More Through Having Less
8. Sami at Life, Laughs, and Lemmings
9. Tabitha at I Choose Bliss
   

I hope that all of you will pop by to see what these lovely ladies are doing, as well as pay a visit to August Street and Evolving Scenes, the gals responsible for my post today.

The guidelines of these awards are as follows:

1. Thank the person who nominated you for this award.
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog. (Go ahead, choose one!)
3. Link to the person who nominated you for this award.
4. Nominate 7 Kreativ/Awe-summm Bloggers.
5. Post links to the 7 blogs you nominate.
6. Leave a comment on each of the 7 blogs letting them know they have been nominated.
7. Post 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting/7 things that make you Awe-summm (or in my case, perhaps a little weird).

So, to wrap up this little piece here are some random odd facts about Chania Girl for your amusement. It's okay if you don't feel inspired. :)

7 Things That Make Me Awe-summm or Perhaps (Marginally) Kreativ:

1. My first words were "moon" and "light," which I would say when pointing to the stars in the desert sky.
2. I like to spell things backward in my head, usually when I am nervous or under pressure. Seod enoyna esle od siht?
3. My first kiss was on the lawn in front of the church parsonage, and I cut him with my braces. I was so stressed about kissing him afterward that I broke up with him a month later from the "pressure."
4. I clap when food arrives, or when it is yummy. I am usually not aware that I'm doing it until someone points it out.
5. I sang "Santa Baby" to my entire high school at the Christmas Concert my senior year. I even had a red boa. ROWR.
6. I have read and translated Beowulf in Anglo-Saxon.
7. I have seen ghosts.
   

I hope this has been an enjoyable read for you. Remember to check out these other wonderful blogs today.

Happy Wednesday!