myweddings.com/scottdanya

spring schedule.

i still hate school but decided to register for next semester's classes anyway.


american religious history MWF | 12:40 pm - 1:30 pm
southern writers MWF | 1:40 pm - 2:30 pm

creative writing TR | 9:30 am - 10:45 am
critical thinking and writing TR | 11:00 am - 12:15 pm
faith in contemporary literature TR | 12:30 pm - 1:45 pm

muffins muffins muffins.

i love baking, in general.
but i especially love baking muffins.
mmm. i love smelling, tasting, mixing, everything muffins!

yesterday scott and i made some chocolate muffins with cream cheese filling/topping. (technically more along the lines of a cupcake.) and they were pretty tasty. the only thing is that they didn't keep their shape very well. a little too moist, perhaps? i'll cut back on the wet ingredients next time. also, i don't have any muffin tin liners, so they stuck to the tin even after i greased it.

i think we're going to try making some "donut muffins" next time. yum!

children + literature.

what do children want to read about?
(assuming they want to read)

last one.

this is the only place left where i have not announced:
scott and i are engaged.

sometimes i forget why i started all of this.

it's a distracting world.

my hands smell like skittles (the small candies), because i sprayed that sweet smelling hair tonic thing in my wet hair after my shower. it's supposed to keep my hair ultra moisturized and frizz-free.

that smell combined with many sounds and the residue of a headache resistant to medication is making concentrating on textbooks impossible.

i hear:

birds
airplanes
cars
my cat making a chirping-type noise
mom in the kitchen / cabinets opening & closing / drawers opening & closing / dishes cling-clanging
dad flipping through channels / many t.v. noises

what am i supposed to do?

hooray autumn!

the sky is changing to several shades of gray.
yellow leaves are sticking to pavement.
the air is shifting to a northwest cold.
my skin is forming goosebumps.
shoes are getting wet & dirty from walking to class.
my toes are growing numb.
(my toes are prickling from properly warming up inside.)
families are making hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.
& everyone is wearing sweaters.


hooray autumn!

baptist elite.

i am not a baptist elite.


end.

kitten's first full moon.

i am at the redmond library with a stack of books and papers at my table, but i can't focus. two high school girls are sharing my table with me, and they appear to be working on an assignment together. they can't seem to focus either. "i hate peanuts, but i love peanut butter!" one of them admitted in a sort of yell-whisper. she went on to list all of the types of 'nuts' she does like: "pistachios, almonds, hazelnut -- oh, i love hazelnut! i always get sugar-free hazelnut lattes." her friend questioned her about the sugar-free hazelnut. then they went into a five minute discussion on the pros and cons to using sugar-free products. less calories and less natural, basically. after listening to them, and then skillfully tuning them out, i ended up spending half an hour using the library's free wi-fi and reading craft blogs. but, to be fair, i did start out with productive intentions. i was trying to find an easy, kid-friendly kitty craft for my children's literature class. no great ideas so far. it might just come down to me scavanging value village for some cute, old fabrics and ribbon and then figuring things out from there.

smarties.

i both love and hate watching the oprah's world's smartest kids show.

the 10 year old boy who learned to play the accordion from his grandfather who visited him in a dream.
the 2 1/2 year old baby girl who knows and can point at every country in the world just from hearing/seeing it once.
the 14 year old international bestselling author. (i don't know what to say. really, i don't.)

lomography.

this afternoon, i searched for a blogring with 'lomography' in the name. i felt like i wanted to look at some nice photographs. i found a blogring with over 2oo members. i clicked on a link to enter the blogring and browse members. the first member's name was something like cutezz897. their profile picture was not interesting, and i did not feel drawn to their name, so i did not look at their blog. maybe i should have, i don't know. but later, i mean a few seconds later, i found a nice name with a nice profile picture. the name was simple and maybe four letters long and without numbers. i looked at five photographs on their first page. the photographs made me feel good things, like seasons and family, and so i stayed at that site for a little while.

a type of hurt i know.

the first week we had her, i had nightmares about her escaping her little pen sanctuary and getting lost and hurt somewhere in our house. and every morning when i woke up, i would quickly jump out of bed to make sure she was safe. she would always hear me coming and wag her curled tail and yelp her little puppy bark. i would pick her up and nuzzle her tiny face and whisper how happy i was to see her. she could not have known this, but she caused me to feel excitement about caring for a life. she caused me to feel anxiety. she caused me to feel a different kind of love. a mother-like love. i was ten years old.

now i am twenty-one, and my dog is gone.

i was getting ready to watch a movie with scott before going to bed, when i heard malia scream from behind my parents' door. knowing she had been sick all day, i felt a deep worry, and i ran to see what was going on. i swung open the bedroom door. "dad, what's wrong?" "i don't know." he was standing over her, obviously distraught. malia's body was contorted in a way i had never seen before. "is she having a seizure?" no reply. he bent over and scooped up a limp dog. malia gasped and coughed. "is she having a seizure?" i repeated. "i don't know. she's very sick. i'm sorry, i thought she would bounce back from being sick, but she didn't. we need to take her to the emergency clinic. i need to change. can you hold her?" i did not answer. i did not want to hold my dog. she would die in my arms, i knew. but i did not want her to not be held by me either, so i reached for her. she coughed again. i thought she would be stiff and cold, but her body was still very warm and very soft, and i brought her head to my cheek and started to cry.

scott came to the hallway, and i looked at him. he did not know what was going on, and i could not say. he looked at malia and looked at me. he figured it out soon. i cried harder. my dad said, "we will take your car." i kept crying and looking down at malia's body. it was the lightest it had been in a long time. "danya, we will take your car, okay?" he said again. "okay... she's not breathing... dad! she's not breathing!" he peeked around his bathroom doorway. he was only wearing his white undershirt and jeans. "i have to call and tell the hospital we are coming." he pulled his shirt over his head and fixed his collar as he walked to the computer. i followed. he found the number to the closest animal hospital. i was crying very loud and very hard and i didn't care. my dad felt bad and was aware of my feelings and said, "scott, can you hold malia?" i didn't want to give her to him, but i was very upset, so i let him hold her. i went to the living room and knelt and cried. i heard my dad talking on the phone saying something about my dog not breathing but was it okay if we still brought her in. he asked for directions there, and we got in my car. scott was wearing socks and no shoes and had his pajama pants and a t-shirt and a cardigan on. we brought one of malia's syringes and her insulin just in case.

my dad took a wrong turn somewhere, and i wasn't even sure where we were, i was rubbing malia and telling her to get up. "rub her and pat her and talk to her." my dad said. scott held her tight and rubbed her too. he supported her head, and i thought he was sweet. sometimes he would brush hair from my eyes and tell me it was okay. it seemed like it took a long time to get there, but we only traveled a few miles, i think.

when we pulled up, my stomach felt sick, and i didn't want to get out, but i did. a young, blond lady in scrubs hurried out the entrance door to meet us and usher us into the hospital. i felt better then. she seemed to care about my dog too. she felt for malia's pulse. then pulled out a stethoscope. she asked if she could take her to the back. she left with her for less than a minute. i stood back by the door we came in facing the parking lot. i wondered what it was like to be a veterinarian. i was glad i hadn't become one. i would cry all of the time, i knew. i kept crying. i knew the lady that took malia had come back, because i saw her from the corner of my eye, and i felt her come up behind me. but i didn't look at her. she put a hand on my shoulder and said "sorry". i cried. my dad asked scott what happened. "she's dead." he said. i continued to cry into scott's shoulder. i heard, "it's been a hard day." from a woman's voice. i did not look up to see who it was. "was it a dog or a cat?" the voice continued. scott answered her. the voice went on to share that she had just lost a cat and that she believed jesus had created a special place for animals, and that they were happy there. my 'doggie' was okay she informed me. i did not want the voice to call malia a 'doggie'. i did not want the voice to keep talking. i wanted it to leave. i did not want the voice to have a face, and i did not want her to see mine. but i felt rude and sad for her and for me, so i looked at her for a second and turned back to the shoulder i had made wet. as the voice left, she said, "god bless. see you there [heaven]." i thought that was a very strange thing to say, but didn't want to think about it. scott offered me water, i said no, i want to go outside.

i sat on a curb and held the syringe and insulin we had brought with us. my dad came outside after he finished signing paperwork. and he hugged me. we haven't hugged in a long time. when we got into the car, i knew my dad had been crying, and i felt sad for him. i have only seen him cry two other times. i stared out the window on the way home. i didn't recognize anything, but i knew i should. we were still in my city. my tongue felt hot and prickly in my mouth, and i thought it was in the way, and i wanted to remove it but i also didn't really want to.

we arrived at home, and my dad retreated into his bedroom. solitude and television is how he has dealt with a lot of things. i sat down on my couch with scott. we sat for a long time. sometimes i stopped crying, but then i started again. scott got me tissues and tea and tested me to see if i could name what kind of tea he used and what else he had added. i held the mug in my hands for awhile. it was hot, and it kind of hurt. i tasted it and smelt it. i told him what i thought was in it, and he called me a 'tea connoisseur'. i smiled without effort, and i knew i was okay.

two subjects, unrelated?

i don't know why it feels like i always need change.
it's something i've come to accept. i didn't know that i was accepting it, but i was, and now i have. it doesn't matter the shape or size of the change; a change is a change, and change makes me feel at ease. backwards isn't it?

lately, i have been following a northwest university (bachelor's of english) graduate's blog. she writes nearly everyday. it's impressive and entertaining. today i read about 'why she writes'. apparently, she writes because of the power it holds. and she wants to be able to wield some of that power. i understand that. and, in some ways, i relate. but mostly, i don't. maybe i'm still discovering why i want to write. the answer hasn't hit me yet, and i think that is one part of why i hesitate to accept 'writing' as any sort of career or field of study. i don't know what the other parts are.

purple mountains.

when you said you like things that "aren't perfect", i understood. something about the way the sun was setting and the soft, pretty colors coating the mountains made it seem like a scene from a new favorite movie.

i really did wonder how many other people in the passing cars were thinking about sunsets they have witnessed in their lifetime. and maybe this one meant something to them too.

that was a good day.
do you remember?

hunting.

i have been browsing craigslist for a part-time job in the seattle area.
at first, i thought, 'oh, this will be very easy!'
but it isn't really. it has been a week, and i have sent 11 personalized e-mails (to various businesses) indicating interest with my resume attached. i have received 2 responses. first: basically, 'thank you for your interest. you did not make the list of interviews.' second: 'it looks like the resume wasn't attached properly; please try again.' the second was for a receptionist position at a yoga studio. i don't remember what the first was for.

i know it has only been a week, but... i don't know.

if all else fails, i will return to value village. maybe. for fun?

sometimes i miss things.

it doesn't happen in any specific order.

sometimes i miss the ocean.
sometimes i miss being little.
sometimes i miss long e-mails.

"i'd rather not use paper."

that whole "save the earth" business.

who lives like this?

anthropologie has great artistic direction.
like free people. only, free people has a lot more to offer, and they don't have that "stuffy" feeling. (thus the "free" in "free people".)

midday chatter.

isn't chatter strange?

webster defines chatter, the noun, as "idle talk".

i don't know why, but the word "idle" causes me anxiety and irritation. as does chatter itself. does it make me unfriendly to not want to engage in chatter - whether it be with strangers, friends or relatives?

listening to chatter can be interesting. i like hearing a choir of voices and then trying to single out each one. i don't like loud chatter; loud chatter can easily become maddening within seconds. whereas, soft, easy-going chatter can be lulling. i like soft chatter.

there is a lot of chatter below me. i am in the upstairs of the bookstore, where a half consumed blueberry muffin is keeping me company at the table i reserved as "my study". blueberries smell delicious. all berries smell scrumptious.

two weeks.

until we move to washington.

air travel is great.

i want to go to an airport, wait in lines, listen and observe people, take a picture, browse magazine racks, purchase a bottle of water, and fly on an airplane.

reflection on yesterday|today|tomorrow.

there's a lot of freedom in writing.
if it weren't so intimidating, it would be inspiring.

lately i've been reconsidering everything i'm doing with my life - where i'm focusing all of my energy. i want my efforts to count for something. i want to be happy with what i accomplish in day-to-day life as well as the long-term outcome. and i never thought this was impossible. nobody can tell me it's out of the question, no-way no-how impossible. it's possible. and it's sad that so many people do believe it is an unrealistic goal. (am i wrong?) ...that for so many, having ANY job is good. whether they enjoy it or not doesn't matter, as long as there is a life-sustaining income. when did scraping by become a lifestyle?

i don't want that.

when i have dreams that encourage me to be who i want to be and when i have people fully supporting me, it's just pitiful to crawl into any uncreative, undesirable position behind a desk.

& everything.

i don't really know what i'm doing.

a statement that applies to almost everything in my life.
(exceptions: i know that i am loving people. i know that i am trying to figure it out. things like that.)

but not knowing what i'm doing has never scared me before, and it still doesn't. the new and pretty pieces of life that show up unexpectedly don't seem so scary. maybe i should be more concerned. it's just hard to be upset, when you're looking at the sky.