But Baby it's Cold in Here

It's late, the house is dark, and I came into the living room because I think it rather romantic to write by the glow of the fire and the Christmas lights. I am by no means a pyromaniac, but I LOVE fires; so long as they are in places where fires are supposed to be ie: fireplaces, wood burning stoves, etc. There's just something about the smell and the sound of wood crackling and popping, or in the case of my mom's house, the constant woosh of gas. It is rather convenient to turn a fire off and on as easily as turning on the light. PRESS. Instant ambience. However, my plans have been somewhat thwarted as the timer on the Christmas tree just went off, and if I'm not careful and hurry this up, the reindeer standing eerily at attention beside me and the mantel lights are going to wink into darkness as well. Then it will just be me and the fire which I sometimes want to crawl into for warmth.

I have to point out here that my mother keeps the temperature of her house hovering somewhere between 60 and 65 degrees during the winter. Which, to those of you who aren't accustomed to this, is freakin' cold. I sleep with a heating blanket left on all night, and I'm not a cold sleeper. My body often heats up like a little thermostat and I'm good to go, if not sweating bullets and having to kick off sheets. In this house, however, I find myself burrowing into my self-made little bear cave, trying to drown out the sounds of the infernal bonging desk clock on the other side of my wall. It chimes every fifteen minutes in varying degrees of length. Thankfully I'm usually asleep by the time midnight rolls around, otherwise I'd be launching my stuffed Rudolph through the sheetrock at it. Not exactly the job position he signed up for. And for the record, I sleep late here, not because I'm tired and lazy, but because I'm putting off the dreaded meeting with the chilly air as long as possible. The bathroom is really far away, and I don't have my ski coat nearby...

Holiday Hijinks

My mom just beat me in Scrabble. What the flip. And not by a few points either, but by like 50. Me, with the extensive vocabulary. She then proceeded to wave her little wooden tile holder in my face like a jerk. I need not mention (although clearly I already am) that she gained her victory by piggy backing on my own brilliant, lengthy words, but the malicious laughter and gloating was entirely unnecessary. I know I've always been a bit of a sore loser, but I was hoping that my age and experience would have remedied that. No such luck. I left the couch feeling vaguely dissatisfied and grumbling to myself while my parents snickered in the background. I did not appreciate the peanut gallery commentary.

In other news, we did family Christmas early for the first time in my entire life. The holidays look a little different this year for reasons not the least of which is my recent propensity to bounce around the planet like a ping pong ball in as short a time frame as I can manage. Other reasons include family circumstances which cannot be helped, but Christmas feels odd. I'm not sure Santa will be able to find me. I guess it's a good thing he doesn't exist. It appears to be a great year to start remembering why we celebrate in the first place. Trust God to shake up the snow globe when things get a bit too comfortable.

Dear Life, Please Start Making Sense

China - South Carolina - Mexico - Chicago - Austria - California - Germany - Hawaii - Budapest

This, ladies and gents, is what my Christmas card list looks like. I mean, I'm not gonna toot my own horn or anything, but that's kinda cool. Ok, so maybe I am (toot, toot!).  There are times that I love my international lifestyle.  Other times, it just exhausts me. I had a friend ask me Saturday night if I was finding what I was looking for in all of my traveling. The momentum of my forthcoming response slammed into a concrete retaining wall. I'm not entirely sure, but if memory serves, I stared at the cement floor for a beat. I shrugged my shoulders, gave my 'whatever' face and said, "Yeah, I don't really know what I'm looking for. I figure one of these days I'll just trip over it and be irritated for a second that I stubbed my toe." Then I laughed a little, somewhat awkwardly.

I have to say, though, that two-second slice of conversation has had me moving through molasses ever since. Sometimes I feel like I'm the only person who thinks about life in such agonizing detail. It's as if I'm afraid one small, wrong decision is going to send me spiraling down into a dark abyss of unfulfillment. If I could describe my life in one word, it would be SIGH. Those four letters just about sum it up. I'm finding out there's a reason this is the road less traveled. Because it's freakin' hard! (whine, moan, complain). Alright, that's it, I'm done. I'm gonna go eat ice cream now and contemplate the color of the walls.

Best Month Ever? MARCH

Just found out I have the same birthday as Justin Bieber. How do I know this? Because the coolest person I know, JJ Lefors (she's making me type this), just bought his book First Step 2 Forever: My Story.

(We do not need to talk about how sad it is that this kid is not only just 16 years old, but in addition to having at least two multi-platinum albums out, has also managed to publish his first book. It's official, I'm a slacker.)