Week Nine: You are a Brit from the 1800's.

Salutations, my good friends.

At the beginning of this year, when I took on this mad commitment of writing one blog post a week for an entire year, I knew in the back of my head that it would become steadily more difficult to get in the time required to hammer out a proper post. However, I had foolishly thought that I'd be getting posts up on the Wednesday of the week, not hours from my self-imposed deadline of Sunday night. Oh, how very naive I was.

So here I doth sit, on a Friday night*, getting my post done for Sunday.
"Why Whimsy," you might say, "you're ahead of the game this week! Don't despair."**

Forsooth, but you are wrong. So very, very wrong.

You see, tomorrow I'm having my family over to celebrate my Aunt's birthday. She died when I was three years old, but we get together to remember her. There will be brownies, her favorite dessert.
Then, I'll be going to bed stupidly early (think 10pm***).

"Goodness, Whimsy." you say, clasping your hand to your brow, "Why such a dreadfully early bedtime?"****

Thank you for asking, my friend-who-I-just-made-up-for-the-purpose-of-asking-questions. I'll be getting up INSANELY EARLY on Sunday morning so I can work a SEVENTEEN HOUR DAY at a local theatre. They're hosting a touring production of The Color Purple, and I (along with my family) will be helping load in, do costumes, help during the show, and load out. The day starts at 7am, (a time that in Whimsyville just does NOT happen to exist) and we finish the day at midnight. Yep, long day.

Anyway, that's all I have for you this week, but rest assured, I have LOADS of news for next week. Suffice it to say that the classes that my family is teaching started this past Tuesday, and there is much hilarity to share concerning small children and the things they do.

Excitedly yours,
Whimsy


*I started this Friday night, but a combination of cataclysmic events (not really, just being busy) caused me to finish and post this on Saturday morning.
**Nobody I know talks like this, but they SHOULD.
***Since my usual bedtime is somewhere between 12 and 3am, this is the same as a massive culture shock.
****Because this is my blog, I shall write my fictional conversations with you as if you are a Brit from the 1800's.

Week Eight: "Grown Up"

I hope I never grow up.

I don't mean that in the Peter Pan-Neverland sort of way, or the horribly morbid I-Shall-Die-Before-I-Grow-Old way, or even the I-Refuse-To-Take-Responsibility-For-Anything-Therefore-Remaining-Childlike-Forever kind of way.

What I mean is this. Children blow on dandelions and watch the seeds scatter, not worried about weeds marring their pristine lawns. Children ask questions because they are interested in finding out "how come"?

I want to always...look for the rainbow in the garden hose off-spray.
...blow dandelions and watch the seeds fall where they may.
...hang over the edge of the tree house and pretend I can fly.
...dance like a madman to 80's music.
...wonder what the world would be like with purple clouds.
...do cartwheels, regardless of my talents.
...get excited about small things like grape jelly.
...look for heart shaped rocks at the beach.
...believe in fairies and magic.

That, to me is the definition of "grown-up". In addition, saying that you're "grown-up" seems to me to be saying that you can't grow anymore. To me, growing is a process that I never want to stop. If you can't grow anymore, then you're stuck in a state of stasis.

I want to grow, but I never want to be grown.


~Whimsy



P.S. Why has this struck me now? This coming Tuesday, I start my second session of classes as a teacher at a local homeschool co-op. This time, instead of working with teens, I'm going to be working with littler ones, ages 6-12. Honestly, I couldn't be happier. I love that age range. ^___^

P.P.S. Am also building props for a local theater, and working tech-whatnot at another theatre this coming Sunday.

P.P.P.S I'm feeling like my life is very exciting right now.

Week Seven: A Journey

It was my seventeenth birthday. We had finished my birthday dinner, and had moved on to dessert, cheesecake.

My family came over to celebrate. Now, in this case (the broader use of the word) family meant my mom, Nay, Nessa, my dad, my grandma and pepe (maternal grandparents) my Aunt who was also my GoddessMother (not a biological aunt, but still an aunt nonetheless), and my GoddessFather and his partner. I was opening my birthday presents (books, wizard rock CD's, books, band t-shirts, books...) when my GoddessFather went out to his car and brought in his present. I had to shut my eyes as he brought it in, since it wasn't wrapped, but when I was told that I could open, there was a guitar sitting in front of me.

Let it be known, at this time, I didn't know one chord from another, I couldn't hold it correctly, I wasn't musically inclined, or even taking lessons.

But I had a guitar, and that was AWESOME.

That was April.

What happened next came naturally. I taught myself three chords and began to haltingly play a few easy songs. After playing more or less regularly for a few months, I got frustrated with not knowing how to play anything. All the songs I could play weren't what I wanted to play, and the songs that I actually wanted were far, far too hard for me.

So I wrote a song using the only chords I knew, in September.

That song is "It's Raining, Annie", a tribute to Banned Book Week and the book Annie On My Mind*.

I kept at playing, always referring back to a birthday note I'd gotten from one of my favorite bands which said "Learning a new instrument is hard. Just keep at it, and you'll be good in no time. Music is the best outlet, rockin' pwns!". Whenever I felt like I was floundering, I looked at it and pressed down a few more chords.

One day, I played until my fingers were so sore, I could barely type. It never got to the point where my fingers actually bled, like in the song "summer of '69" that I love so dearly, but they hurt.

I received my guitar almost two years ago. I didn't realize at that time that it would change my life, but it has.

Over the past two years, I've gone from having practically no confidence in my own musicality to really believing that I have the talent to not only sing, but play and write my own music.

This isn't to say that I'm just sitting here blowing my own horn, but more of just a look back and see how far I've come. I think it's a good idea to sit back sometimes, and just look at the past. Even though I've learned so much, I've still got so much more to go.

That's a pretty important metaphor for life in general, I think. No matter how much we learn, there's always something new. I'm not saying that you can't be happy with where you are, believe me, but just that there will be something new to discover...forever. And that is an AMAZING, wonderful thing.

~Whimsy


P.S. I wrote a new song, and I'm really proud of it. You can all go listen to it HERE. I wrote it for YOU ALL. ^__^

*In case you don't know, Annie On My Mind is a phenomenal lgbtq(etc) YA book.

Week Six: The Inner Workings Of Whimsy's Brain

As some of you may know, I take ASL* lessons with my sister. This past Sunday (Did I mention that the lessons are Sunday nights?) as we were talking/practicing/learning/talking about Doctor Who in sign, we got to talking about Jung personality types**, and out tutor sent us a link to go take the test ourselves.

Anyhow, long story short, I've been strongarming all my friends, family and cohorts*** into joining in and taking the test and sharing their results with me.

As it turns out, I am an ISFP (Introverted Sensing Feeling Perceiving) type. At some points, the blurb got me SPOT ON, like here:

ISFPs tend to be quiet and reserved, and difficult to get to know well. They hold back their ideas and opinions except from those who they are closest to. They are likely to be kind, gentle and sensitive in their dealings with others.

and here:

ISFPs celebrate their own uniqueness, as well as everybody else's, and don't appreciate being judged harshly for their differences.

and here:

ISFPs are able to get along with most of the other personality types, although they tend to be reserved around those they don't know well. They will enjoy spending time with others who share their interests, and who understand and accept the ISFP for who they are. They greatly value their space and autonomy, and appreciate other's respect for that.

but like most things, it's not a perfect fit. Like where it talks about ISFP's being "Flexible and laid back", and "most have a special affinity with babies...", it's not quite right. Nonetheless, if you want to read all about the supposed inner workings of my brain (which honestly is more accurate than not, or so I think), you can do so HERE.

Which brings me to what I really wanted to do with this blog post. Go HERE, take the test (yes it's long, but it's oh-so-interesting) and leave a comment with your type!


Part two!
CEU's.
For those who don't know, CEU's are Continuing Education Credits. My library has this program where you can sign up and take all these classes online in ALL KINDS OF FUN THINGS. I'm thinking that I might end up doing that, so that's going to be fun!

In other news...My roof is leaking! HOORAY! Yes, indeed. With all the snow we've gotten (up here in the Northeast USA) my house is now leaking. It's been a crazy few days, trying to keep up with all the dripping and bucket-changing and wet-towel-drying, but I think we've got it under control...fingers crossed, eh?

I have a kinda-sorta-plan for next week's blog, so keep an eye out for that!

Off to create madness,
Whimsy

P.S. Just as I finished writing this, the dog sneezed so hard, she smacked her face into the floor. Poor baby.


*American Sign Language for those who don't know.

**Yes, it's hard to talk about this all in ASL, that's where finger-spelling and actually TALKING OUT LOUD comes into play. O__O

***I just wanted to use the word...I'll admit it.