God ain't no wizard

When I was a little girl, I thought God was some kind of powerful sorcerer who could change my life like he did to the Israelites in Exodus with the locusts and the frogs and boils. I didn’t realize that God was the sit-back kind of guy, the grandfather who sits on his chair with his reading glasses and his book when his children play outside and eat their grandmother’s cookies while she fixes them dinner. Since I believed God was a wizard, I prayed to ask him for big things. The biggest and most constant prayer was that God would make me skinny. I was young and fat. I ate plenty of chocolate and loved my orange soda. I’m pretty sure I loved all food and would try to eat the same portions as the rest of my family because that was “normal” or something. I wasn’t aware that God couldn’t jump in and make me thin or that I was in fact in control of my own weight and body. Now at 28, I have figured it out. I joined Weight Watchers in October and have been eating the right foods and getting exercise to help me get down to a healthy weight. Last night, I got my 50-pound medal/token. I am thrilled. I feel better. I walk faster and I wear t-shirts that don’t hug my fat too much, mainly because there is less fat to hug. It’s exhilarating. I’m glad that I’ve started to figure things out. God is no wizard… got that. Eat healthy foods… getting that. And enjoy life… ah, I’ve been doing that for 28 and a half years.

TWO POUNDS!!!

This is the first time I’m writing about it on any of my four blogs, but readers, I am a member of Weight Watchers. It’s true. I joined back in October and have been working hard to shed those pounds ever since. I’ve lost over 40 pounds, but here’s the thing, I seem to be a bit stuck. UGH!!!! What is going on? I’ve been going up and down, up and down, ever since the week of my birthday. My birthday was over two months ago. Yeah. I know. Two months of teeter-tottering is too much. It’s time to get down to business. I’m RECOMMITTING to Weight Watchers. It’s a fact. I’m going to go back to the Weight Watchers tracking sheets. And I am going to do it right. I think all we need sometimes is to start fresh, you know. Couples “start again” all the time. Each day is fresh with no mistakes (at least that’s what I learned from Anne of Green Gables). So tomorrow is day one of Rece Weight Watcher Part II. Please feel free to check-in and see how I’m doing or better yet, join me in this new adventure. Stay tuned for more. ☺

Some assembly required

Have you ever bought a piece of furniture that is fully intact? The box screams, “no assembly required.” You tear open the box, pull out the bookshelf, unfold it and TADA! You can put books on the shelf because it is ready. I love that feeling. I don’t need a screwdriver, hammer, or friend to help me. I pull it out of the box and feel as if I have accomplished some big feat. This feeling of accomplishment is a farce. I deserve no credit for the shelf. Someone else did all the grunt work.

The realization came to me yesterday as I put together small parts of dental chairs. I am working in a factory, you see. I got a summer job to help me pay the bills my “real” job at the school didn’t cover. It’s not my dream job by any means, but it’s going to help me and for that, I am grateful.

So yesterday, I put hundreds of small half rings onto a metal roller. And I made chair backs and put together motors. It was a long, tiring day and at the end of it, I thought, do they really make enough money to cover all the work we’re putting into these chairs. I mean, really, do they? One of my friends used to be a server at a restaurant. She once complained to me that people weren’t tipping her the full 20%. She still gets her regular OREGON minimum wage and yet she’s worried about not getting the HIGH tip? When did tipping go up to 20%? It used to be 15%. So if a crappy waitress/server gets 20% for her lame attempt at serving food, why doesn’t Mary Lou get 20% of the cost of the chair for all the grease she got on her hands, hair, and clothes? I mean, really…

FYI: the factory I’m working at is pretty awesome. They take care of their employees and even their temps (like me). This post has nothing to do with the company, but at the thought… why don’t we tip those hard workers who hurt their hands when fixing the sewing machine that makes our jeans or the craftsman who makes our kitchen table? And if we can’t afford that, can’t we at least give them a shout out?

Note: I would like to thank worker 12 for making my Levi’s jeans so fabulous and…

ain't no elves in this house

The Elves and the Shoemaker. It’s a great tale. The shoemaker cuts out all the leather, gets his tools ready for the morning work, and goes to bed. When he wakes up, the shoes are waiting for him. His work has been done. He can go through the rest of the day without worry or stress. Unfortunately for me, the elves and the shoemaker is just a story. Elves don’t come into your house and turn your fabric pieces into a beautiful dress when you leave your sewing machine out on the table.

Let’s start at the beginning. Last Saturday, my mom and I went to town so I could get a haircut and we could get pedicures. I picked out green polish, knowing I was graduating in a little over a week and that my cap and gown were Oregon green. After the beautification process, we went to Jo-Ann Fabrics to get some white fabric to protect my dad’s pool cover. When we were there, I saw that Vogue patterns were only $2.99. I found a perfect sundress pattern and decided to get it for my collection of patterns for when I become a real seamstress. Well, my mom saw it and said, “Let’s make it for your graduation.” My eyes got kind of big. I mentally calculated how much money was in my checking account. Then I counted the days until I was set to walk in my cap and gown. “Are you sure we can do it?” I asked. “Sure,” she said. So I went to the fabric section and I picked out pretty green fabric.

When I got home, I washed the fabric. Then I ironed the fabric, which my mom said I didn’t do very well. It’s true. I never was very great at ironing.

A few days later, I started to cut out the pattern and fabric pieces. This is only the second time I’ve ever cut out patterns and fabric. The first was to make an apron that is about two sizes too large for me.

The cutting continued for a few days. We’d run out of fabric and had to purchase more. Before we knew it, it was Saturday night. We were set to leave to Eugene at eight Sunday morning. That didn’t happen. Instead, my mom was up until three in the morning trying to help finish the dress. It’s not done. Right now at 9:22 Sunday, the pieces are still hanging over my Grandma’s old kitchen chairs. I am very little help. If I knew how to sew with any basic level, the sewing machine would be running right now. Instead, I dwell on the fact that my life isn’t a fairy tale and elves don’t come into my house to do work. Hmm. Maybe now that I’m an overeducated classroom assistant, I should learn how to sew with efficiency.

fire-broiled pecans

I almost died today. I was broiling some pecans to put in my pralines when I started to smell the pecans. I thought, oh crap, they’re probably a little burnt. I opened the oven door and AHHHH!!!! Flames! The flames were jumping off the pan. My life flashed before my eyes. I was pretty sure my parents’ house was about to go up in flames. It was awful.

Now here’s the rough part. I didn’t know what to do. Throw water? Call 911? Get the fire extinguisher? I ran to the garage, pulled out the fire extinguisher and took it back to the kitchen. The extinguisher is probably older than me and I had no idea what to do with it. I ran back to the garage and got the gigantic extinguisher my dad probably uses to put out field fires. The pin was already out. I figured it was dysfunctional. I called my mom, not 911. The fire was small, I thought. No need to call the cops. She didn’t understand what I was saying, probably because I was screaming into the phone. “Water? Do I use water?” I shouted. After three tries, I got my answer. Yes. I was supposed to use water. I got the bowl out of the cupboard causing a small finger wound. Then I put it out. I wasn’t dead. I had survived. My parents got home a while later. I got a mini lesson in broiling pecans, fire extinguishers, and how to keep my cool in an emergency.

A few hours later, I started making the pralines again. They kind of turned out. I blame the fire; it put me on edge.

Dreams of pirates and the like

Bad dreams. Bleh! Who needs them? As a kid, I could sense when the bad dreams were coming on. To stop the haunts, I would tell my favorite teddy bear, Pinky, my fears. That only lasted so long. I realized as I got older that I had to clear my head in order to fall asleep. So I would. I would think out and write down every thought I had before I could fall asleep. Only when my mind was clear would sleep find me.

Last night, I read before going to bed. I’d skimmed and read short lists in the most recent issue of Entertainment Weekly. Johnny Depp is on the cover. There’s a whole spread about the Pirates movie coming out in a few weeks. I didn’t realize the Pirate would seep in before I fell asleep. But it did and I just woke up from quite an adventure. I wasn’t truly in danger. I mean, Blackbeard just chased me down some rickety stairs, but he really didn’t have a chance of catching me. I was a lot faster than him. The one thing I do find weird is that the tune from the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland overshadowed the Dashboard Confessional song that woke me up. No need to hear about a stolen heart. Why not just sing, “Yo ho. Yo ho. A pirate’s life for me.”

Dog Kicks

So I never had my own dog. I was allowed to have cats, but even the cats were required to stay outside and live in the barn. Dogs just weren’t our family’s thing. Actually, I’m pretty sure dogs were banned because my mom hates dogs. She just does. Because of this, I developed a distaste for man’s best friend as well. Instead of befriending the barking beasts, I always sided with the cat creatures. They were less loud.

Right now, I’m sitting next to the only dog I’ve ever liked. It’s the dog I housesit for and he’s adorable. He also has atrocious breath right now. It stinks. No joke. And… he keeps kicking me. What’s with the kicking, Quincy? Why can’t you just get comfortable and fall asleep already? Your nails keep jabbing into my side. Harumph. Silly dog!

Lent

Lent. It starts tomorrow. I didn’t really ever learn about Lent until college when the Nazarene chaplain talked about it at Wednesday’s Ash Wednesday chapel. I got the ashes on my forehead and decided to give up chocolate. It was rough though. I had to wait until after my birthday to eat the candy my mom had sent to me. This year, I’m not sure I’m participating in Lent. But since in the next half an hour I plan to start my Fat Tuesday celebration, I thought it might be good to think about what I could possibly give up. Here are my ideas.

#1: Sarcasm – Nope. There’s no way I could handle myself without sarcasm for 40 whole days.
#2: Chocolate – I’m already on a pretty serious diet. What would be the use of cutting off the random piece of chocolate I consume once every two weeks?
#3: Jelly beans – Nice idea, but I don’t even eat jelly beans unless it’s Easter.
#4: Sandwiches – Sure, the whole idea of Lent is to help you focus more on Holy things by cutting out other idols and obsessions, but I couldn’t give up sandwiches. Come on, I’m a good enough person. Let me have my sandwich! ☺
#5: TV – It’s hard enough to go a weekend without watching TV. Why on earth would I try this for Lent?
#6: Writing – Are you kidding me? You might as well ask me to hold my breath for 40 days. Are you really ready to plan a funeral?
#7: Soda – Ok. This is an idea. But I just tried to cut off soda for a week and only lasted 6 days. Sad.

That’s it. I give up. I’m not sure what I should do for Lent this year. Perhaps I could just try to think happy thoughts. I like that. Be happy for 40 days. It’ll be 40 days towards my goal for 2011. All I want is to be happy. Hmm. I like this.

Happy Mardi Gras, y’all!

the perfect guy

So as shown in yesterday’s blog post, I like television characters. The truth is that I love television characters so much, I think they should/could be real people. The other day I came up with my version of the perfect guy. He would be as smart as Sheldon Cooper from the Big Bang Theory, as funny as Chandler Bing from Friends with the looks of James Franco from Freaks and Geeks.

My father told me such a guy does not exist. Hmph. Maybe I’ll have to figure something else out.

Happy New Year! (four days late)

2011

It has been ten years since I left high school. It’s been almost six since I graduated college. I’ve known my friends in Ukraine for five years. This is crazy. When I was younger, I always wanted the days to go faster so I could enjoy my weekends. I wanted to be able to hang out with my siblings without any distractions of school and homework. But of course, my sibs had friends and hobbies that kept them from my agenda.

In 2011, I know a little more than when I was little Rece. I know that we only get one life. We have to live our lives as if there is no tomorrow. We should be doing the things we want to do NOW and spending time with the people we care about. I finally made it back to Ukraine over Christmas break and I realized how much I love the people and the culture over there. But my life is here in America. And so… I will write more. I will call more often, and I will save money to visit my dear friends.

I didn’t want to make any real new years resolutions this year, mainly because every year I make resolutions, I only follow through with about one or two of them. So in 2011, I aim to be happy. That’s it. I want to be happy at work, in my personal life, with my family, with my money, etc. As long as I’m happy, I’m sure the other things will be as they should be, right? ☺

Happy New Year friends!

Chickens and roads

Here's something I found on my "Things to Ponder" Page of this blog.

Things to Ponder
QUESTION: Why do chickens cross roads?

What are they? Stupid? I mean, seriously. My brother has a bunch of chickens at my parents' house. The chickens run wild and they escape from their roaming area. The other day, one of them crossed the road to the neighbors' property. What was it thinking? Why does it want to cross the icky pavement? Perhaps other people look at me and wonder, "why does Sharece keep going back to Dayton?" "Why doesn't she stay in one place for more than a year?" or "Why would she EVER move back in with her parents?" All I can say to this is it's what I do. It's "the thread" I follow. Not everyone can understand it or see it the same way, but it's the way I am. Maybe I should give the chickens a break. (August 29, 2010)

A little faith in Obama

I stopped believing in the tooth fairy in third grade. I learned about Santa Claus in fourth. I learned to do my own laundry in fifth grade and I realized prince charming wasn’t coming along at age twenty-five.

I also voted for Barack Obama. I loved what he stood for: bringing hope and change to America. Never once did I think he was God or that he had super powers. I thought he was a cool guy running for a really intense position, but he believed in the same sort of things I did. He had great ideas for change, the kind of ideas I couldn’t think up if I hung out with Harvard graduates everyday.

I still like Obama. Sure, not all the promises have been fulfilled, but people who believe in the Bible have been waiting for thousands of years for their promises to be fulfilled. Many wait till death to reach heaven. That’s a lot of faith in something or someone you can’t see in person. But we can see Obama. We read about or hear about the wars, economic failings, and health care policies he’s dealing with daily. Why can’t we put a little bit of faith in our own guy? He’s one of us, after all. He’s an American. He puts himself in the public eye and gets bashed by bloggers and commentators every day. Personally, I know I could never do it. I take it personally when people look at me with a blank expression. I assume they hate me. I like Obama and you know, I think if we were all a little more positive (including myself), maybe we could get along a little better. Because right now, it really sucks to be a voting American.

Book Geeks

I work with a bunch of book geeks… or maybe we’re book nerds. I’m not sure. Whatever we are, we are AWESOME. Together, we do one of the most important jobs at the University of Oregon. We process and repair books. Yep. It’s THE most important. Without the books, how would we learn? This whole digital thing is just a fad. It’ll be gone in no time.

Anyway, tonight we had a library crew garden party. It was quite wonderful. We made mini books, looked at Marilyn’s (one of the boss’s) chickens, and ate a fabulous feast.

Here’s a taste…

Craft time was the best. Jonny didn't bring his supplies but most of the girls did. It was great. Seriously, our work at the library feels a little like this fun craft time.


I'm not gonna lie. When the girls started talking about the types of chickens they have and what color eggs they lay and basically anything chicken, I realized I was way out of my league. I totally ignored everything chicken when I was a kid. I didn't like the meat, I hated feeding them and basically disliked all the farm work I had to do. Ironic that now I want that kind of life here in Eugene.



Please note: I don't know the name of the above chicken. But I believe it's the one they pet and talk to a lot. Will I ever get over my fear of being pecked to death by a hungry chicken? Not sure...

Trusting a toy

This morning, I got to sit at a new desk. I was at my non-internship volunteer workplace. It was amazing to have my own cubicle. I didn’t have to sit in the studio everybody needed to use and I didn’t have to sit in the table in the middle of the room and read the newspaper twice.

But instead of jumping into the online news when I entered the cubicle, I did what every smart person would do. I picked up the Magic 8 ball. I asked it the ultimate question, the question every woman over 26 who’s moving back in with her parents must ask: Will I ever get married? I shook it up, closed my eyes for a second, willed a positive response, turned it upside down, and looked down.

DEFINITELY NOT.

What? This can’t be. I was shocked. How could this happen? I took a walk, got a drink of water, and went to the toilet to catch my breath. Then I realized. The Magic 8 Ball didn’t understand the question. It was made in China. It doesn’t know English.

I texted a few of my friends to get their responses. I got a few “hahas” and a “Rece, you’re so funny.” Abby said I shouldn’t put much stock into a piece of plastic with blue water in it.

I tried again. Negative. Third time’s a charm, I thought. I got the answer I wanted. Not a yes. Not, “sure.” But it was a positive one for sure. I took a deep breath. I texted my friend Lena to let her know the good news. Rece was not going to turn into an old hag with crazy cats.

I think I’ve learned my lesson. Magic 8 Balls are not toys. And if you want to ask them a question, you must finesse it out of them. And ask the question slowly. Enunciate. Then maybe you won’t have to try three times for the right answer.

cell phone terror

There’s a reason I try not to have cell phone conversations in front of others. People listen in. I do it. My ear stretches out to catch the private words people are sharing in public. Why wouldn’t I listen in when the person is shouting so loud into the phone that even my grandfather with horrible hearing could catch every word?

The other day, I took a bus to campus. When I got on, a girl was talking to her friend about school stuff. When she got off, she was still talking to the same friend. We both walked across the street and took the same sidewalk up 13^th on campus. She was still talking to her friend. At first, I’d been listening. Then, I realized I was annoyed and started to tune her out. By the time I got to the path to the J-School, she still hadn’t stopped her conversation.

Seriously? Does she like to be noisy and obnoxious with her telephone conversations?

Yesterday, I got news that I was one of the people OPB was looking at for a summer internship. I was pretty stoked. I tried to e-mail my mom about it, but she didn’t read them right away. I ended up calling her when I was walking four blocks from my house. Sure, I was chatting loudly on my phone, but I made sure there weren’t any people walking behind me. Plus, the convo only lasted about two minutes.

Cell phones... Be careful where you use them.

homework stuff

Whenever I work on homework, I surround myself with distractions. I don’t know that it’s the smartest idea.

Look at today.
I got home at four. I decided to take a short break and watch something on Hulu. It was the latest episode of Glee. Then, I started to download songs from iTunes. It’s my latest addiction. iTunes can be dangerous to the poor girl’s budget. After iTunes, it was Friday Night Lights (FNL) on Netflix. I’m loving this new show. I have to read the book for a project. The show is great too. The goal is to connect with small town life and be motivated to search for the thing that holds Dayton (Oregon) together. I’m so enthralled with the show that I have a hard time thinking of anything but football. And sure football used to keep Dayton together, but I’m not sure that it still does today. After FNL, I decided to work on homework. I pulled up my word document and typed a little bit. Then, I checked my blog. A friend had left a comment. I went to her website… for half an hour. Then, I had to move on. More homework. First, a little music. Rating songs on iTunes. Working on my laptop in bed. Watching and listening to 30 Rock. Talking to a friend on the phone. Writing this blog post.

So yeah, I’m having a little trouble focusing on my homework.

Introvert vs. Extrovert

I was reading something in Mental Floss, the best magazine in the world, and I stumbled across a bit about personality type. I decided to figure out what kind of person I am and I asked my brother his opinion. Am I an introvert or an extrovert? Without thinking for a second he said, “introvert.”

“Really,” I asked.

“Well, you were when you were younger,” he said.

Hmm… that got me thinking.

A little while later, I asked my sister. “Shanna, am I an introvert or an extrovert?”

“Extrovert,” she said. “But sometimes you can be a little introverted.”

What a strange thing this personality thing is. I suppose I’m a miffle. Yes, this is a Sharece word. It means the same thing as “enigma.” Yep. I’m a mystery. At times, especially when I’m in strange and unfamiliar places, I get quiet. I may not be “shy” but I am most definitely quiet. The wheels are turning at record speed but I’m not sure what exactly is going on.

I’m not sure what to really call myself. All I really know is that I’m Rece. I love to talk. I can also listen. And people watching can be a whole lot of fun.

realization

For the last year, I’ve been dedicated to studying journalism. After spending time in the Peace Corps, it seemed the thing to do. I want to write. Why not become a journalist?

This morning, I realized that besides writing, doing radio, and working for the Peace Corps, I have one other passion. I am fascinated by ASD – Autism Spectrum Disorder. I took a class about the disorder at Willamette ESD when I worked at Dayton Grade School. It was amazing. We learned about ways to help kids with autism and Asperger’s. My friend Chris and I were in the class together. We both said that when we learned a little about the syndrome, we both thought we had a little bit of autism in ourselves. There are times when I am socially awkward. On occasion, I ask inappropriate questions without thinking. But luckily, I have been able to pick up on the awkwardness and avoid doing similar things again. People with autism can’t always do this.

I hate that I’m always changing my mind about what I want to do, but I would love to figure out ways to help people with ASD. Maybe I can do it by volunteering somewhere. Maybe it means I’ll have to change paths in some way.

At least for now I recognized this interest of mine. Next step: do something about it.

Perfect birthday, uh huh, RIGHT!

Breaking out the puzzle. That’s right. I purchased a puzzle for myself just in case my birthday plans didn’t work out. And that’s what I’m gonna have to do.

Happy birthday, Rece. I know… I’m ridiculous.

April 15th rocks

This morning, I woke up at 6:18. My dad was on the phone, ready to wish me a happy birthday. He asked me when I was planning on getting up and eating my good breakfast. I said I didn’t know.

I woke up again at 7:24. I figured my mom was calling me. I was partially right. My Ukrainian host mother, Alya, was calling me from overseas. I got the same question I always get, when are you coming back? I hate this question. If I could, I would go back tomorrow. But things are in the way. School. Dentist bills. The usual. But let me tell you, this phone call woke me up. Nothing makes your day better than a call from old friends in another country.

This birthday is bound to be an interesting one. And if it isn’t, I always have a puzzle to work on at home. ☺