Through the Post

A friend posted this on my facebook and it intrigued me.  Basically, you send 1 thing a day through post (letter/postcard) through February (24 days -- not including Sundays and 1 Holiday).  I can think of no other thing that brightens my day more than a letter sent through the post.

http://lettermo.com/

There are several people I'd love to send letters/postcards/pictures to, so this is a perfect opportunity.

What about you?  Do you like writing/receiving letters?  Would you be interested in something like this?

It would be a fun topic to blog about, I think.  If I do it, I'll let you know -- although I better buy my stamps now so I have no excuse to let the letters sit in a pile on my desk, which is what usually happens!

Check Out My Other Blog

If you want to read my thoughts on books I've been reading (I'm averaging 2 a week right now, ever since  a friend told me about checking out library books on my Kindle via Wi-Fi), check out my other blog:

thelitcrit.blogspot.com

I might re-name/re-tool it but for now I just want to keep track of what I've read, what I liked and didn't, and things to keep in mind, should I ever pursue writing.  And, perhaps, some days I may update on my ScriptFrenzy/NaNoWriMo/other writing projects.

ANNNNND:

If you have a blog, I'd like to read it!  (GMB, I can't access yours -- which might be because you don't want others to read it, but in case you weren't aware that I couldn't read anymore, I just wanted to say something.)  :)

People vs. Productivity

Here's something I never thought about before last week -- how do adults keep their social lives going while trying to get stuff done?!

I have been saving up for a piercing and giving myself some spare change every time I practice an instrument or exercise for 30 minutes.  Of course, this means that I could be practicing up to 2 1/2 hours a day plus exercise.  And then there are a million crafts I want to do, and housework, cooking, and work.  Plus anything else I want to do with Stu, which happens too rarely for my liking.  Poor guy.

I was going along alright (kitchen was *mostly* clean most of the time) until last week when everybody was settled back down in school and people wanted to hang out and I actually had time to say yes.

Don't get me wrong.  If you want to hang out, I'm almost always going to say yes.  But therein lies the problem.  If 30 people want to hang out, I'm going to figure out a way to do it, and everything else falls by the wayside. 

So last week, I had a terrific time - spent time with people almost every night, watched some good movies/TV, played some games, and ate waaaaaay too much junk food.  And this week, it is so quiet that I get antsy the later it gets and nothing seems interesting enough to do.  Plus I didn't do anything the week before so now the kitchen and bathroom are disgusting and I'm falling all over the clothes and boxes in the living room (and trying to figure out when to take the tree down since we don't have room for it).

And I know, I know...it all comes down to balance.  Again.  This balance thing keeps coming up and I keep trying to figure out how to do it.  I think it might be one of those evolving-over-the-course-of-a-lifetime skills.  Or, maybe I should just find a place to be creative with other people.  That way I can do both at once and have time to clean out the fridge and take out the trash.

One can dream, I suppose. 

Worth It

Most days, my tiredness isn't worth what I was doing the night before.  Recently, especially. 

Tossing

Turning

Nightmares


Dread

Horror

Numbness


How can you sleep with all of that floating around?  You can't.  So I don't.

But last night was totally worth it.

A long time ago I thought someone was upset with me over who-knows-what (I have a hard time with social cues, and don't really know how to handle emotional issues well, so sometimes I just don't know what is going on).  I saw her less and less and I hadn't seen her for over a year.  I missed her.  But I didn't want to press her into spending time with me when she so obviously (to my mind) didn't feel inclined. 

But, over New Years', I realized I'd lost contact with people who meant a lot to me - friends from Tennessee (who are tired of me saying, "I'll get there eventually!"), friends who are now overseas or across the country, or friends here that I just haven't taken the time to meet with (which doesn't mean I don't try or don't want to).  And I decided that I should change that.

People like me need meaningful connections, even if we don't consciously realize how important they are/should be to us.  So it takes more of an effort on my part, but when it pans out...it's lovely.

So, I invited this friend and her sibling over, but didn't hear back from my friend, so I assumed just her younger sibling would be coming, which was fine.  But then I learned that my friend was coming along, which threw me into a perfect tizzy.

My stomach was doing flip-flops.

Were we about to have a confrontation?  Would we have a blast?  Would we talk about not seeing each other, or just avoid it?  What was she feeling?

They arrived and we began chatting -- we chatted for a long time, about movies, books, music, funny online videos...then we settled down to watch New Girl (which is always entertaining and adorable) and then we talked some more, watched part of A Very Potter Musical, and then played Scrabble.  We ate popcorn and peanuts, homemade fudge, we drank cherry limeade...and I think everybody had a really nice time.

And they both hugged me tight.

I don't hug people a lot.  Mostly because I think people wouldn't want hugs from me.  But I really, really love hugs.  They're my favorite.

They left at 1 this morning and I'm hopeful we'll spend more time with each other.  I know my friend is quite busy (music director at church and works retail full time), so maybe that's all it was...I can't really know.

But staying up late to spend time with them both was definitely worth it.

More Polyvore

My badge on Polyvore, which shows 100 colors I've used in my recent collections.

...Interesting.

Check out my newest outfits by searching "snapefan4life" on Polyvore or checking out the "My Style" board on my Pinterest (Kate Sape).

Sinking

Last night I received a call that my grandfather (dad's dad) was in the hospital. I called back and he answered. "What's wrong?" I asked. Unfortunately, he told me. The old are not always bashful about...private matters. It eased my mind a bit that it wasn't a heart attack, or cancer (again - he's beat it twice), but it pained me to hear him cough, as if he couldn't catch enough breath. His voice quavered. "We're moving," he said. I could hear the pain and tears in his voice, which made me tear up. I can't bear it when someone cries.

His wife (my dad's step-mother) moved down from Nebraska to marry him. Their entire married life has been fraught with tension as she tried to get him to agree to move back to her home. Now that he's sick and old, she will. She'll take him from the only place he's ever lived, with memories of his children and family, and move him to someplace where he can't even take part in ministry or church because of his age.

This is what happened to my great-grandmother, and she ended up dying of a broken heart.

I love my step-grandma, but I can't understand why she would choose to move now. Easier while he's alive? Harder to go back once he's dead? She asked if I wanted some of the furniture.

I...we don't have room. But if they're in the family, I don't want him to see it all go into a sale and dissipate like the rest of his life. It's too unbearable.

And then I called my brother, because he needed to know Grandpa was in the hospital.

My brother has gone through a lot recently and it's extremely difficult to remain where he is, living with a controlling family (not ours), working all day, and remaining in the same place where he was hurt so badly as a child. It's agony. But he has to work to afford school. Two more weeks and he can leave.

But he broke down at work because at eighteen years old, you can't handle working non-stop, being in a restricted life while you know the person who hurt you is only a short car ride away.

I don't think you can handle that at any age, really.

Family.

What can you do when you're all falling apart? I don't want to share what I've learned about myself, because that's another emotional rollercoaster.

My parents have lost a child. They've learned of one of their children being hurt. And one of their children is broken. She didn't turn out like they wanted.

Which is probably why I had the following dream last night (I ate a grilled chicken salad):

Stu and I were living in a house that was taller than it was wide. We were filming Titanic in the first floor and needed to flood the house, so I took the antique furniture and was getting desperate to move it so my mom, dad and Ethan showed up to help me. We moved some stuff and then carted the rest up the stairs, but I was worried that with all the water on the ground floor, the house would cave in.

Then it became a flood (inside and out) and we had to leave all of our stuff behind. And I kept wondering what was so important to me, and why. Why did it matter? Shouldn't people matter more? And they were all safe.

This is my life.

And I thought last year was difficult.

Well Mannered Fencing

I had two dreams last night, both of which were emotionally charged (which is usually something I don't experience when I'm not dreaming).

The first one is hilarious and showcases the difference between myself and my dream self - my dream self is waaaaay more able to talk to people it doesn't know and isn't afraid to (apparently) stand up for something. Wish I had more guts in real life.

The first dream consists of me, Stu and a bunch of friends at a nice, beautiful restaurant. We were in a dining room with wooden floors, wide, wide windows, and the breeze was fluttering through the filmy curtains. It was a new place because it didn't have much on the walls, just the light fixtures. The walls were cream-colored, and there was even a stone fireplace on one side.

There was one other table in the little room we were in, with a grown-up family - grown up daughters, mother, father. They had ordered some guacamole and soup to go with their meal, and one of the daughters began explaining just how particular they wanted their guacamole, after sending it back (and the soup) twice.

I said something under my breath to the effect of, "I really can't believe they're that high maintenance" (but said much more proper) when one of the girls turned to me with a venomous stare.

"Would you please be polite to the waiter?" I asked.

Well, apparently she wouldn't because she started railing at me while I politely and discreetly pointed out that she was being ridiculous with the staff and that they were doing their best (they were new, after all) and that their food was perfectly delicious.

Well, then she was enraged because she thought I'd called her rude and a few other choice names (which she really was) so I sat down with her mother at the end of our meal and said, "Please forgive me if I ever said anything to upset you. I did not call her rude. I asked her to be polite." We ended up patching things up (the mother/family and me, but not the girl) and they left while we continued to enjoy our lovely meal.

Etc.

Weird dream.

Anyway, the next dream was much more my style. Me and a gang of people were holed up in a castle, trying to escape. I had a fencing sword and every few turns I met someone and had to stick a sword through them so they wouldn't kill me. One guy just wouldn't give up, even after multiple stab wounds, and we ended up underneath the castle in a big, open area with a huge pit beneath. I was trying to get everyone out and someone told me one of our guys had fallen but I knew they were lying so then I had to try to figure out who I could trust and who I couldn't and still figure out how we were going to get out of there.

Anyway. This after eating a spinach salad, homemade macaroni, and a cubed steak. And milk and cookies. I blame the milk and cookies.

...Even in the Wizarding World

Last year I started hearing things.

My phone going off.

Faint music (no words, just instruments and sometimes a voice that was la-la-la-ing).

Sometimes a shout, indistinct.


...I can't decide whether it is because I have headphones on a lot, and I have my phone around a lot of the time and technology's just screwing with my ears or...

...something else is wrong with me. :/

On top of everything else.

Distance

I've been in contact with my family more over the past year than I think I ever have been. Some of the time even spent on actually connecting (on my part -- they're quite good at it, while I am not). Overall, last year was extremely positive and I am hopeful about our relationships.

So I tried to get my mother (who loves Facebook) and sister (who reluctantly uses the interwebz) on Pinterest so we could share ideas for recipes, crafts, outfits, etc. They like the layout, and that you can see the cool things your friends have posted, but...they are stuck on how to actually DO Pinterest.

1. They do not waste time on the computer.

Mother is involved in half-a-dozen ministries, besides cleaning, crafting, cooking, teaching, and exercising. Adrianna is full-time at the Madrid conservatory, neck-deep in theory, violin, piano, and soon voice. She's also involved in ministry and travels into the city constantly on the bus. Neither of them have 'personal' computers.

2. They are not, at heart, collectors.

Neither of them like 'stuff'. The less there is, the happier they are. They see no value in holding onto things or collecting -- not even recipes. Of course, Mother has a craft stash (patterns, yarns, fabrics) and Adrianna has an art stash (paints, brushes, canvas) but they often give the finished products away (thereby eradicating a pile) or teach with the materials they have. Also, they've had to move so many times that after a while, they just got tired of carrying stuff around.

3. They're not really tech-savvy and don't have any wish/need to be.

...It's just a choice they've made, and they're probably better off for it.

And so, both of them begged me to take over their Pinterests. (Well, I suggested it and they both jumped at it)

I logged on to Adrianna's Pinterest and sat there looking at her empty folders, and all of a sudden all my grand aspirations faded away to nothing.

I don't know her anymore. (Did I ever? We're so DIFFERENT...)

If I pinned clothing, I'm not sure what she'd wear. I don't know, on a day-t0-day basis, what her style is. I have shrewd guesses based on other online interactions (SKYPE, Facebook messages/photos) but beyond that...

What makes her laugh? We don't share the same sense of humor (except word humor -- although she hates puns and I think they're brilliant)

What food does she like?

What kind of art projects does she do?

What does she think is beautiful?

I have no idea.

I had to write her a message to tell her to check her pins to make sure they were "her" enough and not just me guessing.

There's something really sad about that to me.

Secrets Journal No. 3

I've been on the hunt for a new "Secrets" Journal - my version of Post Secrets. I don't send them (I'd like to send some one day), but trying to distill things into one sentence with the aid of imagery has helped me so much.

I do one a year, so this is my third journal.

I looked at Wal-Mart (they stopped carrying the perfect one - recycled paper, brown, 8 1/2 x 11, cheap), Hobby Lobby, Michael's, the Dollar Tree, you name it - I've looked there.

So, yesterday we were wandering through Wal-Mart (which I normally hate) and I thought about using a 3-subject ringed notebook (which is what I used last year). Then, I looked at the school materials that were all on sale and hit the jackpot - I bought two packages of lined notebook paper (on sale for 92 cents each, 300 pages total, which would mean 150 b/c I glue them together to make them thicker/stronger) and a 3-ring 1" binder (on sale for 82 cents). Total cost? Cheapest yet - a little under $3.

Last night I got my overstuffed binder out and pulled out dozens and dozens of magazine clippings (some are reserved for painting inspiration, but I have three separate categories just for collages) and got to work.

I made my own modge podge (equal parts Elmer's glue and water - works wonderfully!), found a cheap brush, and glued a few pages together. I also decorated the front of the notebook.

It is easy for me to see patterns, colors, and subjects and how they all fit together. It's soothing, like a puzzle. There's only one best way that things fit together, and I love finding out which layout it is.

I've got a few pages done already, and of course I already have secrets that need to be written down so I can stop carrying them around in my head of every minute of every day.

There's been a lot dumped on me of late -- and here I thought last year was rough. :/

At least now if I can hit school sales, I can have plenty of secret journals to pour my secrets into.

Polyvore

Roman Holiday by snapefan4life featuring tote hand bags

...I found a new toy. Polyvore.com lets you combine any clothing/accessory/beauty products to make outfits. I was always fond of playing paper dolls when I was little, all because of the outfits.

So this is older me, still playing paper dolls.

Awesome. :D

(I'm snapefan4life on there if you want to look)

Beautiful Things

Despite all the horror of this life, I still believe this.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nJ4yNYY1hHM&feature=related

Matthew 5

You're Blessed

^{1 -2} When Jesus saw his ministry drawing huge crowds, he climbed a hillside. Those who were apprenticed to him, the committed, climbed with him. Arriving at a quiet place, he sat down and taught his climbing companions. This is what he said:

³"You're blessed when you're at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.

⁴"You're blessed when you feel you've lost what is most dear to you. Only then can you be embraced by the One most dear to you.

⁵"You're blessed when you're content with just who you are—no more, no less. That's the moment you find yourselves proud owners of everything that can't be bought.

⁶"You're blessed when you've worked up a good appetite for God. He's food and drink in the best meal you'll ever eat.

⁷"You're blessed when you care. At the moment of being 'care-full,' you find yourselves cared for.

⁸"You're blessed when you get your inside world—your mind and heart—put right. Then you can see God in the outside world.

⁹"You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family.

¹⁰"You're blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God's kingdom.

^{11 -12}"Not only that—count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—for though they don't like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble.

Salt and Light

¹³"Let me tell you why you are here. You're here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of this earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You've lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage.

^{14 -16}"Here's another way to put it: You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand. Now that I've put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand—shine! Keep open house; be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you'll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in heaven."

-The Message (Emphases mine)

What the Tide Brings In

I push everything away to see what floats back to me.

- A passionate love for the written word (reading)
-Appreciative of nature (walking, camping, playing in the water)
-Anxiety at disorganization (not hyper-organized, but not messy artist either)

Victorian manners/social behavior, introversion, listening, dreaming/thinking, quiet

I've emptied the bath and am waiting for something to fill it again.

Fill it with what?

A dark, brooding Victorian creature searching for light?

An athletic, fun-loving adventurer?

The quiet nerd who writes about those around her?

Wait and see.

Food for Thought

You cannot fully understand your own life without knowing and thinking beyond your life, your own neighborhood, and even your own nation.

~Johnnetta Cole

The contemplative life is often miserable. One must act more, think less, and not watch oneself live.

~Nicolas Chamfort

If you aren't sure who you are, you might as well work on who you want to be.

~Robert Brault

The value of identity of course is that so often with it comes purpose.

~Richard Grant

Pieces

It's like I'm starting from scratch.

There aren't any pieces here to work with.

How am I supposed to put myself together if I have to go out and grab pieces?

I'll look like a Frankenstein, just ambling toward whatever piece I think will look good once I've soldered it to myself.

And will it be the real me?

How do I know I'm real? How can I be sure I'm the 'real' me? Is it all just make-believe?


I'm fairly certain that no matter how I answer this question, TIME will be part of the equation.

You don't spring into being overnight.

It's a process.

But what that process looks like...is anyone's guess.


Unfortunately, I want someone to tell me how to know myself.

Aren't there steps for this sort of thing?

Can't I be tested?

"Kaitlin is great at ______________. She isn't so good at ____________ so she should concentrate on being something like a ________________ or ______________ or maybe _____________."

And the problem with those types of tests? They might show my aptitudes, but they won't show the type of person I AM.

If I'm a type at all right now, or if I ever was.

It's completely, utterly frustrating.

The more pieces I pitch out, the emptier my shell is (of course), and the angrier I get that I hadn't spotted this sooner. And are the pieces of my own making? Do I just assume they're there? Do I really have any?

How didn't I see I was an empty eggshell? Why didn't I figure out who I was before now?

Because now I have to figure that out if I'm to have any peace of mind, along with keeping a job, balancing an extremely tight budget, wondering if I'm even God's child or just a red-headed stepchild (pardon the expression...I've always hated it. I adore redheads) who's grasping at the hem of His robes and missing, and trying to figure out what I should do with my life.

And on top of that, I have to balance relationships that are either ending, beginning, going nowhere or going stale, try to keep the house clean, and maintain healthy sleeping, eating and exercise plans.

And try not to feel guilty for not practicing music. And trying to be ok with all my creativity being sucked away (if I had any in the first place).

What parts of me are make-believe?

What parts of me were molded by someone else?

What parts of me are stable? Are there any stable parts?

And how can I sort them all out, not knowing which is which?

Shattered

I'm stuck.

And it's beginning to show.

My creativity is falling away from me. I've barely touched my harp all year except for business, and I've let guitar, cello and piano fall by the wayside. I've quit taking walks with my camera, and I've even quit drawing and painting and scribbling. I haven't knitted or crocheted for months and have no notion to go back to it.

What if I'm not an artistic person? What if I was just playing pretend to fit in? If I'm not creative, what am I?

I can't even describe myself, with or without artistic adjectives.

I don't know who or what I am.

I know that: I am female. I am a wife. I am a sister. I am a daughter, granddaughter, niece, aunt, great-aunt...but none of them describe me specifically, and none of these point the way.

Who is Kaitlin?

Insight tells me that this has always been my problem. Or at least, ever since the loss of my brother. In November, 1989, I had a little brother. There are videos of us playing together - me telling and acting out stories for him, reading to him, holding him, loving him. In June 1990, when he was six months old, a Fisher-Price toy claimed his life.

Afterward, my world and anything inside me was shattered.

I remember seeing pictures of me getting older - but I have no thoughts or feelings from those times. I remember hurts - a parent laughing at me for misspelling my name, another parent laughing when I confided what I wanted to be as a grown-up, people ignoring me because of how I dressed, or because I, a rather plain child who knew it for a fact, sat in a corner and watched and hoped that someone would come talk to me because I was too crippingly shy to go up to someone myself.

All I remember is hurt. And yet I know there were happy times - Summer in Cody, Wyoming where I got to ride horses and took my first ride on a four-wheeler.

Actually, that's the only happy time I had until reaching Spain.

Spain opened up the world for me. I remember having my first conscious thought, making friends, trying new food, seeing old, forgotten palaces, fountains, and treasured art. Those nine months enabled me to feel fourteen years' worth of feelings.

And then we had to return to the States. And I closed up again, unknowingly, until my senior year of high school (which was by turns torturous and hysterical). I remember flashes of memories - visits to Spain, a perfect Thanksgiving, a lovely harp teacher, art classes, ice skating.

But I can't remember most of my life and it plagues me.

The pieces are scattered too far apart and there's no way I can ever gather them up. Most of my existence is made up of anecdotes and pictures, with nary a real thought or feeling to connect the twenty-four years I've been alive.

And it looks like this pattern will continue.

Because I keep getting hurt. I keep trying to remember. And I keep trying to discover who Kaitlin really is.

That's why shows like Dollhouse are so poignant for me. The search for identity, the core of your being, your soul, knowing who you really, truly are...the search continues. There are no easy answers.

I've resorted to lists.

"Describe Kaitlin in 10 movies" or "10 foods Kaitlin loves that describe her" or even "music that sounds like Kaitlin". But there are no words, really. At least, I haven't found them yet.

In my mind, I know that if I'm a Christian (and this is a debate I have at least once a day), I'm God's child. He made me. He knit me together. HE knows me, even if I don't. And that's a comfort. If I'm really a believer. But how to know when I can't even describe myself in three words?

I'm just a made-up person. Parts of me are because my parents wanted me to be a certain way. Forced to become an A-type, first-child musician/artist, I grew up thinking that's what I was. But now, at twenty-four, I realize my younger sister is the First Child, A-Type Musician/Artist. She sells her paintings and gets commissions for more. She evangelizes. She goes to music conservatory and plays in orchestra. She lives in Europe. She is a perfectionist. She always does her best. She practices without being told. She's a grown-up.

While I, four years older, sit alone at home and whimper in a corner, wondering if Kaitlin will ever come out of the box she created for herself when Morgan left.

Because I'm still a little child inside. Waiting for her world to be put back together. And I'm not even sure if it can be done.