First Christmas

Ah, Christmas. The one holiday nationally referred to as “The most wonderful time of the year.” It’s a time when families gather, friends congregate, and other distant relations recognize each other for once in the past 365 days simply to wish one another a good one; a time to celebrate the first coming of the Christ and declare to the world differently from how we do other days of the year the love of our Savior for all of mankind. 

This Christmas, I have a special something, or someone more like, to celebrate with. I am blissfully wed to my bestest friend, the reason I am particularly excited to celebrate this holiday season. In establishing our own new traditions, which are completely influenced by the sheer anticipation of another first, we decided to begin an “official” celebration on Christmas Eve-Eve. All to thrilled wait for Christmas day anyway, we chose to bestow gifts upon each other early before the festivities with extended family began. Strategically, we opted to gift the “best for first” so that they wouldn’t homogenize with all the others especially during all-encompassing festivities. I’ve never personally been particularly enlivened by the receiving of gifts, but this year was an exception (after the gift was opened of course.) I believe the fun of it was amplified due to our mutual pleasure in giving the gifts, making the exchange all the more worthwhile. 

I don’t normally openly advertise my receptions and distribution of Christmas, but this time I’m too excited not to brag. My sainted husband gifted me this year a potter’s wheel (I very much enjoy pottery and throwing clay as a hobby and ideal, possible future occupation,) however; this is not just any potter’s wheel.  Aaron built me this wheel with his bare, creative hands. Scrounging for any free moment he could find, he delicately and most thoughtfully constructed this fabulous piece of machinery with every ounce of love, meaning more to me than the gift itself. Easily transportable and cleanable, the wheel proves the perfect size for a humbly sized home. Barely smaller than the size I’m used to, I think I’ll find no problem in throwing pottery of the same proportions I normally would on a “normal” wheel. I can’t wait to try it!

Diary of an Insomniac

The brain, is an intriguing and complex organ (I know little about it so that's all I can really accurately say about it.) My brain particularly; however, is rather...unique. This is not to say that yours is not, though mine is unique from yours. To avoid getting all intellectual about it (oh, sweet irony) and in some cases, theological, I'll get on with my downright cockamamie, and absurdly random thought.

My brain has the greatly inconvenient difficulty, borderline incapability of turning off. No, I do not mean that I am nearly immortal/incapable of dying. I refer to the shutting down process a normal human's brain experiences in order to put an individual to sleep and rest and recuperate.

What in the world does that mean?

Well,  this means that I, when trying to make my way toward bedtime and drift off into dreamland, my brain suddenly experiences a degree of hyper-arousal, or "a state of increased psychological and physiological tension." Simply put, I can't mentally find a stopping point to my day. Medical experts say this is typically acquired after an exceptionally stressful or traumatizing event, major life changes, or alteration in health- all of these I've happened to experience over the past year and a half. 

So, here are some of the thousands of random thoughts/unrests that run through my mind on a nightly basis when attempting slumber:
     10:20 pm
I'm tired.
Ugh, the bed is a mess. *makes bed
I'm going to bed now *crawls into freshly made bed *stares at ceiling for a half hour
I'm uncomfortable *strips bed completely and changes sheets.
Much better... It's too quiet. *Turns on Christmas music and Christmas lights.
I need to call the maintenance guy tomorrow *set TO DO alarm on phone for following day
I need to sew that hole in Aaron's shirt *Sets TO DO alarm on phone for following day
I'm working tomorrow afternoon *sets TO DO alarm on phone for following day
    11:30pm
*ends up writing TO DO list on paper with many more miniscule tasks that don't really need to be done soon, but probably at some point within my remaining time on earth.
I'm tired. *goes back to bed
I didn't like dinner. I should note the recipe and avoid it again *end up journaling for a half hour about everything *writes separate list of blog ideas *writes separate list of story ideas
I need to reply to that letter *writes letter
This Christmas music is too cheery for sleep *turns off radio, turns on nature sounds on iPod
I'm cold *layers in hoodie, sweats, knee-high socks
I'm hot *kicks off covers and strips hoodie
I'm cold *pulls covers back up
     1:30 am
I forgot to workout today *does shortened routine
I want to read the next Grimm fairy tale. *reads next Grimm fairy tale.... ends up reading next 5 fairy tales
    3:30 am
I should sleep *passes out in bed, wakes up 3 or 4 times throughout night, awakens early in the morning when husband returns from work, falls back asleep, wakes up again for real.
 
You get the picture. This puts bedtime usually at about 3 am with multiple wake up times throughout the night plus early rising times. Though irritating and dismally tiresome, I find a dorky humor in it all. I have to in order to avoid deeper frustration. (It's about 2:07am as I type now.) And now that I am beginning to drowse again, I completely forget my train of thought. I guess that's it for this one.


 http://www.medlink.com/medlinkcontent.asp
  

Books

What is it that is so comforting about taking a book to bed? Even if not read, is the fantasy of gaining knowledge by osmosis so intriguing that one must secretly stow the hardbound pages of a favorite novel or even picture book beneath the bedsheets in hopes no one else discovers the scandal, or for the truly dauntless, simply leaving said book out in the wide open atop the comforter? This, as every nocturnal dreamer understands, allows the black and white print to float freely through the air above one's head as one sleeps, fabulously shaping the book-sneaker's brain jargon into masterfully composed reveries that will tomorrow prove relief from the stresses of anticipated upcoming hurried schedules.

This is at least what I hypothesize is the reason my younger sister Ellen always hid behind as she methodically stashed a library's contents worth of books in her bed every night for, after all, she is practically fearless (mind you, she only stored them in her sheets to be nearer to her. Easier osmosis, I suppose.) As adorable and encouraging a thought this notion may present itself at first- her feeling the necessity to thief every bookshelf in the house just before bedtime- no longer appeared adorable in the middle of the night when all those books would suddenly dive onto the floor with a heart-stopping crash, ruining every family member's chances of a decent REM cycle for the rest of the night.

I've never been as avid a reader as she, and continue to find it a difficult task even today, though I admit, I've found a book to suit my fancy at least for the time being: Grimm's Complete Fairy Tales.  Morbid, some say? Perhaps, but, sticking to my belief that fairy tales are indeed real (no, I never outgrew that one. I unashamedly admit that my favorite TV show is Once Upon a Time.)

All this to say: Books are magical...

*What is your favorite book? Perhaps I'll add it to my reading list.