An apology

I am yet alive
In case you had been doubting
Very kind readers

I must confess that
Geometry has taken
Over many thoughts

I cannot promise
That I will be back promptly
But surely I'll try

Thank you, dear Molly,
For your timely reminder
Although unheeded.


I'm really sorry! :)

Hey y'all :)

How are you all doin today? This isn't Julianne - actually this is her friend miss Molly :) you've prob been wonderin when Juliannes ever gonna post on her blog. Well I've been wondering that too so I decided to take matters into my own hands - so here I am :) anyway, talk to y'all later!

Molly <3

1825

When I was seven and Sarah was ten, we spent all our time together.  People used to comment that we acted like twins.  We would laugh in unison, and she would protest, “We look nothing alike!”  It was true.  I was tall for my age, with lanky limbs that greatly contributed to my overall clumsiness.  More often than not, by face was dotted with freckles, and my hair was windblown.

     Even at ten, Sarah was far more graceful than I.  Her hair and dress were always spotless and tidy, just like the bonnet that she always wore to keep the sun off her face. 

     Mama used to sigh after having to clean up one of my messes.  “Why can’t you try to be a little more like your sister?” she’d ask.

     I would shrug.  I adored my sister, but it was extremely difficult to live up to her example.

     Once, Papa told Mama, “Annabelle’s just fine.  She’ll grow out of this eventually.”

     “I know she will.”  Mama said, “I just wish it would happen today.”

     I was not terribly hurried to make my mother’s wishes come true.  I was constantly coaxing Sarah to play with me in our woods.  She would walk, very sedately, holding up her skirts.  I would run ahead, braids and skirt sailing behind me.  I waited for her, seated on a patch of moss.  I’d listen to the birdsong and the chatter of the squirrels in the trees.  Rays of sunlight danced along the ground, sometimes creeping into my lap.  I would smile, not daring to break the magical silence with my voice. 

     Eventually, Sarah would arrive with our farm dog, Blue, trotting along beside her.  He would chase the squirrels, and the sunlight.  I would laugh.  The spell would be broken, and we would play.  Sometimes we fought.  She always wanted to pretend we were great ladies in horse carriages, going to a ball.  I came up with other ideas.

     “Let’s play ‘house’” I’d suggest.

     “How?”

     “Well, we can make pies with mud to bring to the quilting bee, or churn butter, or…”

     “Those things are boring.” She would say.

     “No, they’re not!”  I would exclaim, not understanding why she was so disdainful.

     Years sped by, and I stopped imagining that I was making butter, and started actually doing it.  Then, the year that I was fourteen and Sarah was seventeen, I finally convinced my father to let me help him plant the fields.  That summer, I checked them regularly for pests and invasive weeds.  I groomed the horses, and talked to Blue while I milked the cows.  I loved every minute of it.

     I was far less clumsy now, and Mama didn’t mind so much if I did make a little mess.   We’d laugh together while we made pies or mended socks.  She never asked me to be like my sister.

     I knew why.  I had discovered that growing up was everything I dreamed it would be.  Every new job delighted me.  Sarah was not lazy, but every time she could get away, she would grab a book or a newspaper and curl up and dream.  The farm had no joy for her, because her dreams were different than mine.  She was still staring longingly at her castles in the sky. 

     Mama worried.  Papa said, “Sarah’s just fine.  She’ll grow out of this eventually.”

     If Sarah had been born a couple generations earlier, Papa’s prediction would have been just as right as the one he made about me when I was seven.  However, these were not our grandmother’s childhood days.  This was 1825.

     One evening, Sarah, Mama, and Papa stayed up late, talking.  I was exhausted, so I went to bed.  The next morning, Sarah told me the news: she was going to start a job at one of the textile mills in Lowell the next week.

     “Lowell is so far,” I said, “You won’t be able come home in time for supper every night.”

     “I’m going to live there.” she told me, “They have rooms for the workers, called dormitories.”

     “You do not have to work there,” I protested.  “We can get a spinning wheel and a loom right here, and sheep, too.”

     “This is not like that.” She said.  “I’m going to do the same job, every day.”

     It sounded boring to me.

     “I’ll make money” she continued, “And then I can buy dresses, nice, new dresses for all three of us- you, Mama, and me.  Wouldn’t you like that?”

     Her eyes were so bright, so hopeful, that I couldn’t tell her no.  I could not tell her how I honestly felt; how I knew that no amount of dresses in the world would be able to replace my sister.  She would not have understood, anyway.  We were so different.

     All of us cried when she left the next week.  “I’ll miss you.” she said.

     “Not as much as I’ll miss you.”  I thought, but I just hugged her one more time.

     She came to Mama.  “I promise I’ll write.” she told her.

     Mama cried some more and said, “You’d better.”

     Sarah was smiling through her tears as she adjusted her hat and stepped into the horse-cart, where Papa was waiting to take her to Lowell.

     As soon as I could, I ran to the woods.  I laid down on the moss.  All my old friends were still there: the birds, the squirrels, the sunbeams.  Even Blue arrived after a while, except that he was too old to want to chase things anymore.  I wanted to cry, but somehow I could not bear to break the lonely silence.

     Instead, I thought about Sarah.  The mill had sounded strange and ugly to me, as she described it with an excited glimmer in her eyes.  I wondered what she would think of the mill after a couple weeks.  Then Blue started tickling my ear with his breath.

     I laughed, as some of the loneliness dispersed.

     Now I’m seventeen, and Sarah’s 20.  She comes home at holidays, in pretty dresses, with gifts for everyone, and talking about all her friends in the city.  When she is here, everything seems brighter, but she’s not coming back anytime soon.  She loves her job.

     I still love the farm.  You can usually find me milking cows, plowing fields, or in the kitchen with Mama.  Or, if those tasks are done, there’s a certain clump of moss in our woods, where I go sometimes to think about the past and smile at the beauty all around me.

Playing with Picmonkey

 I have a love-hate relationship with photo editing.  I love the idea, but I often find that my edits do not look any better that the originals, and possibly weirder.  ;)  But after the recent photo shoot, I played around with some online editing software.  These are the results...

I'm still not sure about this whole editing thing.  What do you think?  Which one is your favorite?

A photo shoot with Allison

 One of the reasons that I did not perform my promised posting last Thursday was because I attended two classes one photography at our library.  Yes, two classes.  Three hours of my life.

It was worth it.

The instructor gave a lot of great tips, including how to use natural lighting to the best advantage.  In class, I thought I got the concept.  However, I wanted to put some of it into practice before I forgot it all, so I asked Allison if she would let me photograph her the next day.

Photo shoots can be painful, but she very kindly agreed to do it.

Apparently, I did not get the concept as well as I thought.  I kept getting weird shadows.  (See the photo above and the one directly below)

Then I remembered that he said you don't want a lot of contrast...  I tried shooting in more muted light.

I got a few that I really liked....

Isn't she beautiful?

Of course, with as long as it took me to figure out what I was doing, the craziness had set in...

Yeah, we'll just blame it on me.

This time.  ;)

I hope you like blue eyes...

She's still rather adorable...

Oh, and see the glint in her eyes?  That's what I was going for.  :)

Thank you, sis, for your patience!  I am super pleased.

Now, I am on the lookout for my next victim...  bwahaha  ;)

Psst... Molly

I am about to be cruel.

However, I will soften the blow by saying this:

WARNING:  If you are brunette, know me in real life, love rainbows and Owl City, and your name is Molly, read further only at your own risk!  You may become regretful that I did not kidnap you before you went to Florida with your family.  ;)


For those of you who are not Molly, here's the background.  I am blessed with some wonderful friends.  Molly is one of them.  Chelsea is another.  They hear about each other a lot, but they have never met.  And, until Molly and I finish that tunnel from her house to Chelsea's yard, it looks like things might stay that way. 

Just kidding about the tunnel, by the way.

Anyway, earlier this month we had the privilege to spend some time with Chelsea and her family in the mountains.  It was beautiful, and I enjoyed the visit so much. 

So, for those of you who, like Molly, have never met Chelsea, allow me to introduce her.
Everyone, the lovely girl on the right is Chelsea.  :)

 Also, Chelsea is very fond of coffee, and introduced us to Sheetz, a gas station that sells amazing coffee drinks that you order on a touch screen.

Actually, I like their frozen cremes, but Allison also loves coffee and is very grateful.

A sign at Sheetz, and also possibly Allison and Chelsea's motto.  :)

My dear coffee fanatics

I've already linked to it once, but Chelsea also has a fabulous blog.   It is definitely worth checking out.

So, Molly, I'm ready to go back.  What do you think about a tunnel?  ;)

The promised story. :)

     "The Sanhedrin was assembled, but there was no one to judge."  The man laughed.  "As you can imagine, that didn't make the men's tempers any better.  Finally, someone reported that they were in the temple courts again, teaching."
     Luke nodded, and the narrator proceeded.
     "When the guards brought them before us, Annas was the first to speak:
     "'We gave you strict orders not to teach in this name, yet you have filled Jerusalem with your teaching, and are determined to make us guilty of this man's blood.'
     "His voice was high and haughty, but that was understandable.  After all, we thought that he was the only man who could intercede between us and God.
     "The men were not disturbed at the high priest's accusation.  They replied, 'We must obey God rather than men!  The God of our fathers raised Jesus from the dead- whom you killed by hanging him on a tree.  God exalted him to his own right hand as Prince and Savior that he might give repentance an forgiveness of sins to Israel.  We are witnesses of these things, and is is the Holy Spirit, whom God has given to those who obey him.'
     "With that, cries of 'Blasphemy!' rang out across the room and in my own heart."
     The storyteller paused here.  Even if Luke hadn't been one of his closest companions, the agony on the man's face would have been evident.  Several minutes passed before he began to speak again.
     "Of course we were angry.  Everyone's tempers had been on edge before the men got there, and the speech did nothing to calm us.  How dare these men tell us that what they had seen- if indeed they saw it, a fact which I highly doubted- was greater than our law.  A carpenter from Nazareth could not forgive sins.  No, we, God's chosen people, Abraham's descendants, we were the ones who obeyed God.  We brought sacrifices to the temple each year and took great care to follow the law.
     "As these thoughts raced through my head, waves of fury broke over me, and indeed, the entire room seemed to be vibrating with hatred, fear, and self-righteous anger.  There were whispers that the men deserbed to die immediately- a solution I found immensely to my liking.  Then, among the confusion, my teacher stood.
     "'Put the men outside.' he thundered.
     "His name was Gamaliel.  The people loved him and esteemed him highly.  I was fortunate to have such a rabbi, and I knew it.  Still, I wriggled uncomfortably in my seat as he stood there.
     "'Men of Israel,' he addressed us, 'Consider carefully what you intend to do with these men.'
     "Just as I had expected, Gamaliel had remained calm.  His voice was under control, and his wisdom, which had won him favor among the people, had not forsaken him.
     "He began his lecture.  'Some time ago Theudas appeared, claiming to be somebody, and about four hundred men rallied to him.  He was killed, all his followers were dispersed, and it all came to nothing.'
     "Some of the older heads were nodding.  He continued,
     "'After him Judas the Galilean appeared in the days of the census and led a band of people in revolt.  He, too, was killed, and all his followers were scattered.  Therefore, in the present case I advise you:  Leave these men alone!' his voice rose louder, 'Let them go!  For if their purpose or activity is of human origin, it will fail.'
     "No one could disagree with him.  By this time, it seemed that most of the men had been persuaded.  I was too, but, unlike them, I continued to listen.
     "'But if it is from God, you will not be able to stop these men.'
     "The message was simple:  Let's let Rome deal with the radicals.
     "Something inside me rebelled.  I refused to sit there and let out traditions and faith be blasphemed everywhere.  'Gamaliel might be content to sit back and wait for Rome to come to the rescue,' I thought, 'But I will fight for God.'"
     The old head sagged.  "I was so young, and so foolish."
     Luke looked into the kindly eyes of the man who had been his traveling companion and father in faith- the very faith that he had once persecuted.
     "Yes, but God has used that ugly story in powerful ways."
     Paul smiled.  "His grace to me was not without effect."

Epilogue
Gentiles everywhere praise God that Jesus is the only man who can intercede between us and God...  And for the testimony and encouragement of this godly man.

That's all I've got, folks.  If you want more of Paul's story, Read Acts 9, or any of his letters in the New Testament.  They're pretty awesome.  :)