Never Say Never

"And the horses are loading for the Santa Fe Stakes!" The announcer's voice boomed over the loud speaker. My eyes fixed forward I could feel my heart racing with anticipation. My Girl chewed at the bit anxiously under me, the horses in the chutes next to us snorting and whinnying, each awaiting the moment with equal impatience. The last two horses were being loaded. 15 seconds until starting time. Allowing my gaze to wander, I took in the crowds of people seated around me and the smell of the turf in the summer heat. My Girl pawed at the ground and I smiled, knowing how she felt. Complete silence hung over the crowd like a giant balloon, just waiting to be popped. I brought my gaze forward, finding a perfect view of the track that stretched before me between My Girl's dark ears. "Let's do this." The buzzer split the silence and the gates flung open. My girl and I burst from the gate. I could hear the desperate urges from the jockeys behind us as they tried to encourage their balking horses from the gate. With every step she took we gained ground, her strides eating away at the turf. A wall of 5 horses loomed before us with 2 at our flank and gaining. 10 seconds had already passed with 1 and a half furlongs left. I needed to breach the wall. Watching the crush of horses before me, I found my opening. With a simple tug of the rein, My Girl angled towards the fence and I watched as the horse nearest us lost power, leaving the space wide open. Pushing my hands along My Girl's pulsing neck, I urged her forward and she slipped easily into the position. Our clock was ticking. I peeled my first layer of mud smeared goggles off and buried my face in her cropped mane. "Now." I breathed and she exploded forward, flying past the lead horse. "Sunny With A Chance drops behind to second place! My Girl has pulled herself from the crunch in the back and has taken the lead!" I could barely hear the announcer's excited voice over the roar of pounding hooves. The wire came closer and closer with every stride. I could hear the crowd screaming our name now. This was it. Then, as soon as it had begun, it ended. I was thrown to the ground before I understood what was happening. I was sent flipping over her shoulders as My Girl crashed to the ground, her body barely missing mine. Some racers cleared us with a single leap, others barely managed to avoid galloping right over us. The crowd gasped and the announcer's voice once again filled the arena with his overly enthusiastic commentary but I did not hear a word. The world blurred past as I reached for My Girl. Her pained neigh pierced the thundering noise as she lurched to stand then dropped back to her knees, trying to finish the race. "Ladies and gentlemen, Back In The Day has taken first place!" The announcer's voice shouted and reality suddenly came crashing back. I looked up to see half the crowd cheering -hats flying in to the air and another round of celebratory drinks ordered- while the other half stared down at My Girl and me struggling in the turf, our magnificent lead lost. My loss forgotten, I pulled myself to my feet. Taking her reins in my hand, I urged My Girl to her feet. "Come on girl, stand." Her once shiny coat was now covered in a mixture of sweat and dirt, her body heaving from the exertion. "Please, we can still finish this." I ran my hand gently over the signature white star on her nose, trying not to cry. Her ears swiveled away from the crowd's maddening roar towards my voice and slowly pulled her legs under her to stand. After a shaky attempt, she finally stood once again, her graceful head lifted and ears perked towards me, ready for our next move. I turned and lead her towards the finish. "Ladies and gentlemen, I don't believe it. My Girl and her jockey Amy Williams are back up and apparently determined to finish this race!" The announcer declared and the audience suddenly hushed, all eyes watching the dirt covered and battle wounded pair walk the last steps of the race. As My Girl stepped past the finish wire the crowd went absolutely insane. I looked up to see every person on their feet, cheering and clapping as if we had just won the Breeder's Cup. Tears blurred in my eyes and I threw my arms around My Girl's sweaty neck. She nudged my back and blew a puff of warm air through my tangled hair. "Never say never, girl," I laughed between tears. "Never say never."

A European Adventure

A monstrous roar blasted through the quiet of breaking dawn as the bulky plane slowly began its taxi down the runway. It was 5 in the morning. I was seated on netted sling seats between my two sisters in a c5 military aircraft with no windows except for a two small openings on each of the exit doors. After days spent in a stuffy and cold airport, we had finally caught a flight out. Our destination; Europe.

Flying in to Ramstein, Germany, we crammed our suitcases and bodies into a peculiarly small rental car then drove to Neuss as our first stop of many. We toured Germany, Switzerland, France, and Italy, within the span of 21 adventure-filled days.

Eating is a magnificent way to immerse yourself in the local culture because the type of food a culture consumes defines the people. One thing you should know about my family is that we are very food-centered people. When we travel, food is a huge aspect of our journey, so we definitely experience a healthy serving of culture in each place we visit.

In Germany, hearty foods such as potatoes, wurst, are staple foods. For snack time, we enjoyed (yes, enjoyed) Liverwurst smeared on bread or crackers and drizzled with some of the most flavor-full mustard that ever touched my young American taste-buds. Heinz pales in comparison. Switzerland had eating habits similar to Germany except for one snack that was very popular called Raclett which is melted cheese on toasted bread. What could be better then warm bread smeared with gooey cheese? In Italy, my dad stopped at literally every gelato shop we passed in the streets and bought my sisters and I a scoop of the local favorite, despite my mother's warnings against hyping us up on even more sweets then we had the capacity for. Popular choices for France are Escargot, the ever tempting French Baguette, and of course, cheese with a selection of fruits and wine to cleanse the palate before the next course. Bread is a favorite food of mine so being in France and experiencing the Baguette in its original, always freshly baked, state, was a small taste of Heaven. The French people also enjoy a snack of radishes sliced down the middle then topped with butter and salt. This light treat is the equivalent of celery sticks and ranch dressing (or an indulgent bag of deliciously salty potato chips) for Americans.

Conveniently able to speak the native language in every country we visited, my dad would send my sister's and I into random hole-in-the-wall stores with instructions on how to order the usual local snack.

In Paris, he debriefed me on my order and sent me out at the innocent age of 9 in to a strange store where entire bodies of beef, lamb, and venison, hung from the ceiling and more liquor then I ever knew existed lined the walls from top to bottom. I shuffled shyly up to the counter where the checker stood grinning down at me, awaiting my next peculiar move, and in my best French accent recited, "Une baguette et une bouteille d'eau s'il vous plaît?" All I remember after that is him laughing at my broken french as he retrieved my order then nodding goodbye as I paid my dues and ran as fast as I could back to the car.

In Switzerland and Germany, the people are much more accepting of terrible accents and feeble attempts to speak the local language. We stayed in a Hostile near the Swiss Alps one night and although we shared a bathroom with every other human being sleeping there, brushed our teeth in deep, trough sinks that looked like they hadn't been cleaned in weeks, and slept in old creaky bunk beds next to walls completely covered in graffiti, I remember that the morning breakfast was lovely. The waitress in the small cafe engaged us in friendly conversation with patient understanding of my sister and I's lack of linguistic skills besides the common greeting and "where is the bathroom?". We enjoyed the house hot chocolate with homemade whipped cream and wheat toast with sweet strawberry jam and butter supplied by the cows grazing in the field outside our window.

Europe has so many different wonders to offer, the history, the architecture, and the food, along with their picturesque fairy tale castles, and beautiful landscape of rolling hills, mighty mountains, and lush, green fields dotted with animals. I remember running barefoot through the hills covered with yellow wild flowers in Switzerland and singing “The hills are alive...” because it reminded me of a scene straight out of The Sound of Music. I loved it there and one day, I will return.

The Lovely Niagara

Mark Twain's style of writing always leaves me feeling very intelligent. The way he weaves his extremely large vocabulary together often causes me to suspect him of writing as he reads through the dictionary... This I am sure is not the case and he naturally has a ridiculously wide variety of intelligent words stored away in his thinker. Doesn't everyone?

Due to the occasionally over-whelming but entertaining collection of large words, this is a piece of work with the potential of being a read appropriate for a relaxing afternoon where no thinking is required on your part but yet still demands your full attention to catch the humor and adventure of the story. Mark Twain's ability to portray events with raw comedy and a touch of sarcasm always leaves the reader entertained and ready to continue on despite the intimidating lengthiness the majority of his work consists of -thus he has gained his popularity!

While my little sister and her friend read Niagara Falls together aloud, I was privileged to be in the same room and listen as they sounded out each extensive sentence with steady articulation. About half way through, they both stopped suddenly and then turning to me asked, "what on earth is happening?" Again with my point of the necessity of one's attention when reading a story such as this...

Living Like Weasels

I must begin this with an opening completely irrelevant to my response just because it must be said and shared with people whom I feel can relate and appreciate this circumstance.

If you were a stranger, driving through a small alley (a resident or most-likely someone completely lost) as the rain pours down through the passing Southern California clouds and for some spontaneous reason you happened to look to your left, you would find an peculiar sight. Through the blur of your windshield wipers, you would probably squint and rub the fog from the window to get a better look. There, sitting in between two cars on a decrepit wooden bench in the shelter of my parent's balcony, is me. The only light seen is the soft glow from the computer screen illuminating my face and what manages to sneak its way out the crack in the front door. My ice cream bowl next to me (an ever so witty remark written in bold print upon it, "Cup of YO MAMA") and covered in a warm, blanket, I am set and ready for my final blog assignment of this week. Being a stranger though, you don't know this and think to yourself I am incredibly strange for sitting outside on this cold rainy night -if you were a grandmother or mother you might even spare another moment of thought to think that I could very well catch my death of a cold- at almost 11pm, then continue your journey on without a second thought.

Fun fact about Allie time; I love love LOVE to listen to the rain. And be in it. And the rain in general... you get the picture.

Back to Living Like Weasels...

First and foremost, when Jennette first assigned our humble writing class to read this essay, I found it an interesting piece but couldn't manage to shake my distaste for rodents. Most people often find mice, hamsters, and even rats to be cute. I am not one of those people. If the option is presented, I avoid touching or encountering rodents at my convenience. Otherwise, I choose to observe from a safe distance. Do not be mistaken, I am not afraid of our little "friends", I simply choose to avoid them... whenever possible. My best friend Claira has a younger sister Kate who just had the delight of buying a small hamster (joy!)... Kate seems to make it a point to bring her charming little animal in to crawl on me whenever I am over at their house. Seeing that she is obviously oblivious to my distaste, I indulge her innocent motives and grin and bear the small little claws that tickle my skin as they crawl up my neck and tangle themselves in my hair. Kate's happiness is worth more to me then my own personal comfort so this sacrifice happens to be made every time I am at their house now and I have reached the point of patient tolerance -who knows, maybe one day I will grow to like the little... thing. But let's not get carried away though!

On a more grammatically analytical perspective, Annie Dillard paints a wonderful description and makes the shift from a narrative and story-like sentence structure to an almost persuasive structure with smooth and easy skill -this I find to be a difficult talent to cultivate and therefore respect her for this. Kudos! (whatever that means, I believe it's positive though so I'm going to use it anyways because I like the word)

This is probably a very abrupt ending but this is where I sign off as my brain has slowly crashed from its sugar/caffiene peak in to a valley of a muddled daze... Goodnight :)

Home Alone

It is late, (around 10pm to be precise! Although not too close just yet to the time I usually surrender to sweet slumber) my parents have gone to sleep so in a sense, I am alone. All you can hear is the soft hum of the heater as it circulates warmth through our aging home and the tick-tock of my horse alarm clock as it dutifully warns me of each passing hour.

I decided there are two sides to being alone in one's house. The first is the joy of having the absolute freedom to do whatever you like because no one is there to have a different opinion and stop you (such as eating the last of the mint chip ice cream straight out of the carton or blasting Elvis Presley through the entire house...). Having the house all to yourself you are free to roam the halls, watch movies the rest of your family find extremely annoying and cry/laugh aloud shamelessly all the way through, or one of my favorites; read a book without interruption. The second though is the opposite of all these, being alone can stir a loneliness in your heart that is hard to shake (no matter how many Disney movies you watch and cartons of ice cream you down). You find yourself wandering through the house only to find empty rooms over and over again like something in an Alice In Wonderland movie... For me, I find that my senses tend to run suddenly into hyper-sonic mode (don't really know if that condition actually exists...) and every chirping bird is a burglar outside my door or any passing truck is a ginormous earth quake waiting to vibrate my house's humble foundation to rubble.

I haven't quite figured out the causes for each of these reactions... I think it is a matter of the time of day or of what I have occupied myself with at the time (obviously if I have seen an Alfred Hitchcock movie recently it would be the latter reaction) which is one fantastic reason why we need to follow Philippians 4:8 (Whatever is pure, right, and Holy...). It's amazing to me how God gives us verses that we read and then later there is a "hey! This suddenly makes (Jenette, I almost used "so" *gasp* the horror!) sense!" moment. Love those!

Goodnight! Tomorrow (or maybe even tonight if I'm feeling really zealous) I plan to write my response on Living Like Weasels... this could get ugly.

Home Sweet Home

John 15:19, "...but I have chosen you out of the world..."

As Christians, we are called not to be of this world, but to live in it and be a light of hope and joy for all to see. This world is not our home.

Being the daughter of a military man and therefore having moved around fairly often, I find it difficult to place geographically just where my "home" is. When asked where I am from or where my hometown is, my response is usually vague regarding a specific place but my answer to where I call home is solid. Home is where God calls me to be and where my family is. God gives us a place of comfort and of love, where everyday is a new adventure waiting to be embarked upon. Home for me is standing with my bare feet in the cool ocean water as waves lap rhythmically upon the shore. Home can also be sitting in a busy restaurant laughing with my family until my sides hurt, or standing in the pews of a church, worshiping my Savior with friends. My home can be anywhere as God is everywhere and therein lies my home sweet home.