Lauren

you are what you love

2008-04-07T08:18:00.012-05:00

On Sunday, we took winding side roads in the mountains searching for abandoned houses to photograph. I must have climbed eight fences; trespassing is such a thrill. The most difficult part was determining which houses were abandoned. There was one sprawling white house that we thought must surely be deserted, but as I peeked in a cracked window, I noticed that fresh spring water was sputtering into a rusty sink. The water didn't bother me, though; it was the smooth blue bar of soap next to it. (A bar of clean blue soap seems to be a definite sign that a person is living in the house.)

Someday I would like to find an entire neighborhood of abandoned houses. Wouldn't that be lovely? You could find all sorts of forgotten treasures and interesting windows.

This semester, I've begun to question what I really enjoy photographing, and I've recently decided that nature photography (at least, traditional nature photography) doesn't interest me. It's been done before and it is exactly what it seems. I prefer narratives, documentary - something with a story. Like windows. It bothers me to think I've spent so much time photographing nature when it doesn't interest me at all.

I've also been thinking about conversation lately. I've been taught that asking questions is the best way to engage someone, but I'm not sure that I agree. Some days I have really good stories to tell, or something interesting to say, but I don't want to launch into a story about myself, so I politely wait for a question. And, if the right question never comes, I just don't talk about what is on my mind.

(Some people deal with this by asking a question that they want you to ask them -- "Have you read any good books lately?" they will ask, not caring at all, but just dying to tell you about how terrific they thought The Fencing Master was -- but that seems like using the other person.)

I met a girl named Helen a few months ago, and she really impressed me because she volunteered stories and information about herself. Although she definitely asked open-ended questions and made an effort to engage others, she didn't quietly sit there waiting for someone to ask her a question. She spoke up. I wonder how many good conversations I have missed out on because I didn't ask the right question. I think that I need to be more comfortable just speaking about myself instead of waiting for someone to ask me what I think or what classes I am taking or what neat things I am doing. I know that I appreciate that in other people: not having to drag something interesting out of them. (And, of course, there is a balance. No one likes a person who dominates the conversation.)

This weekend, I received a letter in the mail that I had been expecting for more than three months. It came in a red envelope (as promised) and had Christmas stamps and a December postmark. I felt a little bit like Madeleine Wallace. (Twenty points to anyone who catches that reference.)

In other news, I am pleased to announce that David & I are collaborating on a photography project. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, we will post independently taken paired images to The Geminus Project. (We compromised on the name, and I'm just grateful that it doesn't reference space ships or the year of David's graduation.) So, you should probably look at it. And if you're really hip, you should subscribe via Google Reader.

all secrets sleep in winter clothes

2008-02-21T09:48:00.006-05:00

My latest photography assignment is my favorite yet. In class, our instructor asked us to write a short statement about something that we strongly believed. The statements ranged from ridiculous ("pink is a terrible color") to serious ("capital punishment is morally wrong"). I wrote that literacy is necessary. When we all completed our statements, we were given the rest of the assignment:

"You must now create an artwork that promotes the exact opposite of your statement. You must find a visual way of communicating your position. You must have a minimum of ten images in your visual campaign. No text may be used."

So now I must support the statement that literacy is unnecessary. This is actually far more exciting than my initial statement, and it ties in well with The Vanishing Word, which I read several weeks ago. There are so many ways that literacy is irrelevant, primarily in the spoken word and in imagery. I've outlined a list of things that I want to photograph, such as sign language, visual instructions at fast food restaurants, and television. Also, I think I am going to take the plunge and begin shooting in RAW + jpeg. I would like to have this project printed into a book (ironic, hm?) and I want better quality images.

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currently loving: eisley's cover of "in the aeroplane over the sea", this bumper sticker, and robert mcg thomas jr.

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oh! and Facebook is so helpful. I didn't sign up for this, but they regularly send me little emails informing me of my current popularity status, as voted by my friends. Last week I even got an email informing me of my weaknesses: apparently I'm not very famous or funny, and no one has ever voted me "would rather have dinner with". Thank you, Facebook. It's good to know someone is watching out for my social status.

stay with me, go places

2008-02-03T18:00:00.000-05:00

I'm back from my pageant! As most of you probably know, this past week I competed for the title of North Carolina's 2008 Junior Miss. In just ten days, we learned all of the choreography for the opening number, the self expression number, the fitness routine, and the closing number. We also had interviews, two dress rehearsals, and a tech rehearsal. It was a lot of work, and a lot of days were emotionally and physically draining, but I had a wonderful time.

I met some incredible girls. Not only are they talented, but they are intelligent, friendly, and kind. I enjoyed being around them: riding the bus early each morning, stretching before each rehearsal, singing backstage, curling hair and applying makeup each night, laughing over inside jokes. They each took it upon themselves to help me, because as a homeschooler I was sadly out of touch. By the end of the week, though, Sarah patted my knee and said, "We've really done a lot for you."

The theme for the two-night competition was Jammin' In Jamaica. We wore Captain's hats in our opening routine, which was set to two different songs: "Holiday" by Madonna (if we took a holiday/took some time to celebrate/just one day out of life/it would be, it would be so nice) and "I Like To Move It". Our closing number was to Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds (don't worry about a thing/cause every little thing gonna be all right/singin: don't worry about a thing/cause every little thing gonna be all right).

The actual competition was judged on five different categories.

I. Academics

We each submitted our highschool transcript. I didn't win an award in this category, because homeschoolers don't get credit for AP classes and they can't be class president or valedictorian. But I don't feel badly at all, because I got into Grove City, and that is all that I ask of my transcript.

II. Talent

I performed talent and self-expression on Friday night, and fitness on Saturday night. Because of my contestant number (17, which looks like LT upside down if you write it correctly), I was the first one to perform on Friday night. A kind man took me by the arm and walked me to center stage, my introduction was read, the curtains opened, the spotlight came on, and I sang "I Could Have Danced All Night" in front of seven hundred people. I was really pleased with the way it went. Let me tell you - I've come a long way, baby.

III. Self-expression

Our self-expression routine was set to Bob Marley's "Don't Worry, Be Happy" (in every life we have some trouble/but when you worry you make it double/don't worry, be happy). We wore evening gowns, elegantly walked across the stage, did some fancy footwork, and answered a question that we were given that morning. The question for our group was: "When was the happiest time in your life, and why?"

IV. Fitness

This was the area that required the most work on my part. Almost all of the other girls had cheerleading or dance experience, and so I was a little bit behind, but I'm really excited at how much I've improved. Once thought to have muscle atrophy, I can now do full push-ups, V-sits, and - are you ready for this? - a pretty decent heel stretch!

NCJM was one of many reasons that I began running, and I've now run in a couple of 5K races. It is also the reason that I began taking group exercise classes at the YMCA. I have done the grapevine with middle-aged women, posed in downward dog to obscure folk music, and spun with a group of hardcore road cyclists. I've taken classes with names like "Pump and Burn", "Stability Sculpt", and "Upper Body Blast". I've met all kinds of fascinating people and I've loved every minute of it.

The actual NCJM fitness routine was eight minutes long. We wore hideous green patterned shirts and black Bermuda shorts. And I made it through the whole thing without collapsing, which was my goal.

V. Interview

Although I scored high in my interview at the local level and in mock interviews, I absolutely bombed this one. It was tragic. For example, one of the judges asked me to fill in the blank on the following sentence: "North Carolina needs more ______". My mind went blank. I should have said water, I should have said job opportunities, I should have said conservatives, I should have said anything but flowers. I do not even know where I pulled that from but it was the worst possible answer. Flowers!

Then the judges asked me to tell them three things that I knew for sure. The other girls later told me that they said things like "Jesus Christ died on the cross for my sins", "my mother will love me no matter what I do", and "whoever wins this competition will represent North Carolina well". Well, I wasn't thinking that way. I said: "Giraffe have seven cervical vertebrae. Helen Keller grew up and became a socialist. The recommended daily allowance of trans fats according to the FDA is less than one gram." Your face should be blushing for me.

Other questions I was asked:

-If you were a cheeseburger, what part would you be? (I said the bun.)

-Finish this sentence: My school needs more ______. (I said students.)

-Tell me one thing about you that would surprise me. (I actually told them my story about the fish hatchery.)

-Pretend that we are best friends in highschool. My boyfriend is pressuring me to have a sexual relationship. How would you convince me not to do this? (That one was pretty awkward.)

The judges didn't do a particularly great job asking questions that would help them get to know me, but I didn't do a particularly great job answering the questions that they did ask. So, to no one's surprise, I did not place in the interview category.

Actually, I didn't place in any category. I'm not at all disappointed, though. I was with some really fantastic girls, I had a wonderful week, and I grew in a lot of ways (none of them involving interview skills). Plus, I have new excitement about Grove City. After this experience, I'm really looking forward to dorm life.

Three good stories from the week:

1. When I was having a particularly rough day, the Ozments sent me a gorgeous arrangement of lilies, tulips, and roses. When Mrs. O read the note that she sent ("To the most beautiful girl in the world, and a darn good wenus [the skin on your elbow]"), Ansley protested, "But I thought we were the most beautiful girls in the world." Mrs. O replied, "Oh, you are. We're just saying that because she's in a pageant."

2. One day, we went to an inner-city elementary school and gave presentations on how to "Be Your Best Self". My roommate, Paige, and I spoke to a 5th grade classroom. After playing a game, I asked them to write some of their goals on notecards. When I had a chance to look at what they had written down, it was so neat. Some of them were kind of sad ("I want to be the first in my family to go to college") and some of them were cute ("I want to make up cheers for homeless people so that they will feel better").

C'Krete's (pronounced like secret) goal card reads: "My goals are to be a singer and to get good grades. Also to go to a good college and to have my wish come. Next I want to get out of 5 grade as fast as I could."

Also, look at what Demaria drew for me:

3. On the second night of the program, my grandparents came to cheer me on. An actual conversation:

Grandmother: I hope we'll be able to see Lauren.

Mom: You'll be sitting on the front row.

Granddaddy: Well, I brought my binoculars just in case.

Finally - thanks to everyone that prayed for me, wished me luck, came to the program, or wrote me an encouraging note. NCJM was a great experience, and I still have dozens of stories that I want to tell you all - about the girls, about my host family, about my elementary school kids, about everything. But for now, thank you.

cats let nothing darken their roar

2008-01-02T14:25:00.001-05:00

I adore this 2008 Noa Bembibre calendar.

Christmas break so far:

1. I read Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis, A Girl Named Zippy by Haven Kimmel, and part of The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer. I purchased The Vanishing Word: The Veneration of Visual Imagery in the Postmodern World by Arthur Hunt, The Dead Beat: Lost Souls, Lucky Stiffs, and the Perverse Pleasure of Obituaries by Marilyn Johnson, and She Got up off the Couch: And Other Heroic Acts from Mooreland, Indiana by Haven Kimmel.

2. I went on an organizing rampage, again. My desk drawers are perfect. It is easier to throw things away knowing that I'll be sharing a tiny room in Pennsylvania with a stranger next fall. It kind of feels like playing the game "If there was a fire in your house, what would you try to save?" in that you realize how much you don't need.

3. I was invited to sing the National Anthem at a Carolina Speed pro football game. Not sure what I'm going to do about that yet.

4. Mrs. W and I drove to McAdenville to see the famous Christmas lights, and we discovered a drive-in movie theater that I'd like to visit sometime soon.

5. The Engs came over for a tea party, and I made scones. Wonderful people that they are, they gave me Pepper Shield: "One shot to the face causes instant panic and extreme discomfort." (While I was in Tennessee, Uncle Keith the corn farmer from Nebraska recommended very seriously that I carry hair spray and a lighter, so that I could make a blow torch if someone tried to attack me. I think Pepper Shield is both safer and more conventional.)

7. I tried to register for classes at the community college. Spanish 212 was empty and Digital Photography was full, so I am currently taking only AP Biology this semester. Although I am still hoping that Spanish will be offered and that someone will drop out of Photography, I realize that there is not much that I can do. When I was praying about it, I was convicted about considering it "pure joy", so I've been finding good in my potentially empty semester: more time to prepare for NCJM & NCNATS, more time to spend with my family, a more flexible schedule, and at least we don't need the crutches.

Happy New Year, folks.

let me tell you a story

2007-12-23T23:47:00.000-05:00

This is the story of How I Committed My First Federal Offense subtitled: My Incident With The TSA.

Today we flew to Tennessee to be with family for Christmas. At the security checkpoint, I removed my shoes and placed my jacket in a tray and arranged my backpack and purse on the conveyor belt like I always do. Barefooted, I stepped on the mat in front of the scanner and was summoned through. I made it through without incident, and I began walking toward the conveyor belt to pick up my belongings and go on my merry way. Before I got too far, I realized that seven or eight people had suddenly swarmed around the security screen and were staring in astonishment. One of them let out a low whistle.

In a horrifying moment of clarity, I realized exactly what it was that they were looking at. Normal people would have thought, "Drats; I must have forgotten to put my four ounce bottle of shampoo in a plastic bag" or maybe "those must be my fingernail clippers" or even "I should have left my pocketknife at home!". Not me. I knew that the reason that eight TSA people were gathered around a security screen was because they were looking at brass knuckles.

Mom was slinging her purse over her shoulder and beginning to leave when she glanced over and saw that my face was a furious red. She hurried over and I whispered, embarassed, "I left my brass knuckles in my purse. I just forgot to take them out." One of the TSA guys heard me. "Those are yours?" he asked, stunned. When I nodded, eyes wide, he called all of the other men to come over and look at me. Most of them were amused. One of them thought it was particularly awesome, and said, "Give me some knuckle!" He even reached his teal-gloved fist over to me so we could exchange one of those male-bonding knuckle punches. "It's just a paperweight, right?" and he winked at me. For just a moment, I thought maybe everything would be okay. I had brass knuckles, but the TSA would just throw them away and I could go on to my gate and board my plane and fly to Tennessee.

Or not. A big black man looked at me gravely and said, "You know, in the real world, you would be arrested for having these. This is an Illegal Concealed Weapon." At that moment I realized that I was in deep trouble. By this time, the entire security lane had been closed down because a Very Big Thing had happened. The whole place was in a tizzy, like an ant pile that had been stirred with a stick. The man in charge got on a walkie-talkie and made a few very serious calls. Within minutes, two law enforcement officers were at the scene.

Officer #1, a slender man with red-gold hair and a tiny mustache, was clearly in charge. "Is this yours?" he asked, holding up my brown purse.

"Yes, sir," I said meekly.

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen."

"Well, let's have a look." Unzipping a pocket in my purse, he inspected my brass knuckles carefully.

Meanwhile, Officer #2 asked for my driver's license. From his walkie-talkie, he called and got a license check. "She's clear."

Officer # 1 pulled me aside. Crossing his arms, he asked me sternly, "What's with the brass knuckles?"

Stammering, I told him the truth. They were a birthday gift from a friend, a joke because I'm afraid of dark parking lots at night - a tiny bit paranoid, even - and I didn't know they were illegal, but I did know that they did not belong on airplanes and I meant to leave them at home and I was very sorry and embarassed and not at all a criminal.

By this time I was almost in tears. Scenarios were running through my mind: handcuffs, interrogation rooms, withdrawn college acceptance letters, prison.

Not unkindly, the officer asked, "You thought it was a belt buckle, right?"

"No, I - "

"You misunderstood me. You thought it was a belt buckle, right?"

"Ohhh..." I understood. "Yes, sir, of course I thought it was a belt buckle. Perfectly correct, Officer."

"Alright," he said. He escorted me over to a group of security people who were snapping pictures of my brass knuckles next to my driver's license and filling out pages of paperwork and interrogating my parents. Officer #1 took charge, "Let me explain what's going on here. A friend from school gave them to her as a gag gift for her birthday, and she did not know what they were. She thought they were a belt buckle. See this little gold piece? I have decided not to press charges, so this incident will not go on her permanent criminal record, and I'll write the whole story in her file and I'll add that she was very cooperative."

Turning to me, he said, "You learned a hard lesson today. Even though this will not go on your Permanent Criminal Record, there has been an incident report filed with the TSA. The TSA will know who you are from now on, and if you ever pull anything like this ever again, you will really be in trouble and I will book you. And you know this was a federal offense, so you will be mailed some paperwork from the TSA within thirty or forty-five days."

He confiscated my illegal weapon, and that was that. I walked around the airport despondently for a while (I'm a criminal, for goodness' sake) but my parents were too great for me to just mope around. "I'm going to call Congress and have this taken off your record," Dad said indignantly. (He is very big on Common Sense.) Mom just cracked jokes: "You're not grounded, but you are on probation" and "You have the right to bear arms, but not hands" and "I asked you if you had liquids in your purse, but I should have checked for weapons".

So, all is well. I'm one step away from a permanent criminal record and I am without brass knuckles and I almost died of humiliation, but I made it to Tennessee and I will never do anything like that ever again. And at least now I am assured that flying is a very safe mode of transportation.

and this is how it feels

2007-12-17T17:29:00.000-05:00

The letter from Grove City came today. When I went down to the mailbox late this afternoon, it was waiting for me: skinny, and alone. It was a naked moment. There was no flipping through the mail to find the exact piece, no one crowding over my shoulder; just me and the letter.

I thought that I was prepared for either decision. I had a plan for yes (pay the acceptance deposit, listen to that sappy Vitamin C song on repeat, buy red snow boots like these) and a plan for no (spend my Christmas break applying to more colleges). But, as I held the letter in my hand, I realized that I really, really, really wanted to go to Grove City.

The thinness of the envelope was discouraging. I've been told that a thick packet is good news, and that a skinny envelope is most certainly not. So, holding my breath, I opened the letter.

I don't think I read past "Congratulations!" I just went tearing into the house, half crying and half shouting for joy.

I'M GOING TO COLLEGE!!

For those of you who don't know, I applied to Grove City College in Pennsylvania "early decision", which is binding. This acceptance letter does not just mean that I can go to Grove City if I want to; it means that I am going there. (And when I actually finished reading the letter, I also found out that I was accepted into the department of sociology, which is my intended major.)

I still have eight months until I move to Pennsylvania, but now I have this little piece of joy that I can pull out whenever I want to and just bask in it. Ah, but college is going to be so good.

Merry Christmas, friends.

night revolves on invisible wheels

2007-12-03T18:07:00.001-05:00

Today was cranberry juice and a cold morning run, watching the leaves turn cartwheels. It has been a good Monday, including a voice lesson with the ever-enthusiastic Mrs. Suda ("Sing out of your eyes!"), a promising email exchange with the photography instructor for next semester, a new crate of clementines, and brainstorming with Susan on her worldview speeches.

I've been reading a lot in the gospels lately. I confess, I had been avoiding them; Sunday School had ruined Jesus for me by portraying Him as a static character on a felt board, only able to turn water into wine and rise from the dead. But now, especially after studying the attributes of God, I have a new appreciation for Jesus. In the study of the attributes, God is taken apart and analyzed. When He gets involved, people want to play guess-the-attribute: justice or mercy? patience or discipline? kindness or righteous anger? The glory is taken away by the act of separating the inseparable. But when Jesus acts, no one does that. You don't have to dissect His actions or label them as loving or just or merciful. Instead, you can just say with satisfaction,"that's just like something Jesus would do". He is so whole, and I like Him all the more for it. Go, read the gospels.

And: I'm kind of in love with 3191. Paired photos are one of my favorite things, and a whole year of them is almost too good to be true. Story here.

"One realizes that even in harmonious families there is this double life, which is the one we can observe in our neighbour's household, and, underneath, another - secret and passionate and intense - which is the real life.... One realizes that human relationships are the tragic necessity of human life; that they can never be wholly satisfactory, that every ego is half the time greedily seeking them, and half the time pulling away from them. In those simple relationships of loving husband and wife, affectionate sisters...there are innumberable shades of sweetness and anguish which make up the pattern of our lives." - Willa Cather, Not Under Forty

libertas et patria

2007-04-22T19:45:00.000-05:00

We, the descendants of the heroes of the American Revolution who, by their sacrifices, established the United States of America, reaffirm our faith in the principles of liberty and our Constitutional Republic, and solemnly pledge ourselves to defend them against every foe.

The Sons of the American Revolution awards banquet was one of the more interesting events I have attended lately. Eighty of us (mostly older gentlemen) were served an elaborate meal at round tables by discreet men in black bow ties. After the presentation of the colors and the pledge of allegiance, we received six different formal greetings from the NCSSAR President, the Host Chapter, the City, the NCSSAR, the NCSSR, and the NCSCAR. When the speaker finished his speech about the importance of the American Revolution, awards were given to an Eagle Scout, an outstanding Junior ROTC Cadet, an essay contest winner, a poster contest winner and me. Some highlights from the event:

1. We pulled into the parking garage at the Marriott. As we circled up to the second floor, I passed an older, dignified gentleman in an American Revolution costume, complete with a rifle from that era. It was at that moment that I knew that the awards ceremony was going to be like nothing I had ever experienced before.

2. While walking to the banquet hall, I was stopped by an wizened old man in a blue-and-yellow tie. Upon discovering who I was, his face lit up. He pulled a disposable camera out of his pocket, hollered for his friend to come take a picture of us, put his arm around me, and grinned. This scene was repeated at least four times with various old men. They were all so charming; I wanted to take every single one of them home with me, American Revolution era costumes and all.

3. The presentation of colors was the most interesting part of the ceremony. Five stately gentlemen well into their seventies (four in traditional American Revolution era costumes, one in a kilt) marched around the room carrying flags. They had to climb up two stairs to reach the head table, where they placed the flags. The frail, white-haired man who was carrying the American flag could not make it up the stairs without assistance. Three or four other old men helped push him up the stairs and, in a sudden motion, it reminded me of Iwo Jima. The resemblance came not so much from body posture but from the look of determination on their faces as they struggled to keep the flag in the air while keeping the man from falling. The SAR members seriously consider themselves to be defenders of our country, although most of them cannot carry a flag up a short set of stairs without receiving aid.

4. The conversation around our table revolved almost entirely around the American Revolution. To be a member of the SAR, you must provide proof that you had an ancestor who helped the cause of the American Revolution. Everyone was eager to tell me how they tracked down their ancestor and then detail how their ancestor helped the cause. At least fifteen stories of bravery were recalled and I was reminded several times that when our Founding Fathers signed the Declaration of Independence, they were signing their death warrant.

5. The man who introduced me sat next to me at the banquet table. Somewhere in between the salad and the chocolate mousse torte, a lens fell from his glasses and onto the thickly carpeted floor. My mother inspected his frames and informed him that he lost a screw. I got on my hands and knees under the banquet table, picking up his lens and searching for the missing screw. "It's alright," he assured me, squinting and poking his finger through his empty frame. "I have a large print copy of your oration." I looked over at his thick sheaf of papers and realized that he had printed out my speech in size eighteen font.

6. Upon giving my oration, I was awarded with a certificate, a large medallion and a check. The certificate reads: "The National Society of the Sons of the American Revolution expresses appreciation to Elizabeth Ashley Owens for participating in the Joseph S. Rumbaugh Oration Contest furthering the understanding of our American Liberties". My name is scrawled in the margin in tight, spidery handwriting along with a note that says, "I.O.U a new signed certificate". The man who gave me the award turned three shades of red as he repeatedly apologized to me for that error.

Until we meet again, let us remember our obligations to our forefathers, who gave us our Constitution, the Bill of Rights, an independent Supreme Court and Nation of Free Men.

the upper twist of a written question mark

2007-04-05T16:54:00.000-05:00

1. Mrs. C was cooking rice while I worked on an ACT practice test. My left hand was propped against my face while I wrote with my right hand. Apparently my left inner wrist and forearm were visible. (Scandalous, I know.) When Mrs. C turned around from stirring the white rice, she jumped, gasped, and crossed herself. "Oh my god!" she cried in her thick Filipino accent. "You are so white!" Her eyes widened as she peered closely at my arm. "Have you always been this white?" She questioned me relentlessly until I convinced her that I was not on the edge of death. Even then she had to sit down and collect herself. I love that woman so much.

2. I am in the process of memorizing a speech for a competition on Saturday and I am using a mnemonic called "mind mapping". It's really very fascinating. Essentially, I walk through my house and associate my lines with the rooms. That way, when I give my speech, I can remember the order of the rooms and recall the visual cues that accompanied each room. I begin on my front steps. The first lines of my speech are "The moment that the idea is admitted into society..." and, when I reach the word "admitted", I open my front door. I have cues like this throughout the house: by the piano, the founding fathers considered eminent domain an "instrument", etc. I'm sure the neighbors think I am crazy, muttering to myself and entering my front door again and again.

3. This lovely mannequin head is the inspiration behind my most recent photography project. I am working on a series in which her head appears in every scene (tea parties on the lawn, swinging in the park, playing the piano, etc.). I named her Madeline. Before taking any fantastic pictures, however, I made a sacrifice for the sake of art. I took Madeline by the neck and I washed her hair. (Her "before" picture is on the right.) It was pretty nasty because she has human hair. The thought haunted me as I kneeled over the bathtub, rubbing shampoo into Madeline's hair and wondering what kind of person had donated her coarse, wavy hair. I tried not to think about it, but...gross. Next, I debated whether or not to cut her mullet off. On one hand, if I messed up her hair, it would be permanent. On the other hand, she had a mullet. How could I possibly make her hair any worse? I chopped the mullet off and trimmed her bangs. I must say, she looks much more respectable now. Pictures to come, sometime. For now, Madeline rides in the back of my car. Her head rolls around at every turn, thumping against the side of the car.

with sudden burst of resolution

2007-03-20T20:44:00.000-05:00

[from Jan Von Holleben's project: dreams of flying]

Eat Armour hot dogs. Fat kids, skinny kids, kids who climb on rocks...

I stand apart to hear

2007-03-11T21:36:00.001-05:00

WHAT am I, after all, but a child, pleas’d with the sound of my own name?
repeating it over and over;
I stand apart to hear—it never tires me.

To you, your name also;
Did you think there was nothing but two or three
pronunciations in the sound of your name?

- WHITMAN

I think about names quite a lot, and in doing so, I have made a few observations.

First of all, names are significant. David made a point in this post on his blog (see "charlie") about describing people with their names. This works because names are more than words. They are holistic, encompassing the whole being. They represent people, are their identity. Names connect people and serve as an association. Instance: how many times have you introduced yourself to someone and they have responded with, "Oh, I'll remember that because I have a cousin with that name," or perhaps, "No way! That's my dog's name." (If you have a really extraordinary name like Claxton, you may not hear responses such as this a lot.) When a name is mentioned, I instantly picture someone else I know with that same name, (although I do try to refrain from saying, "Wow, I know someone named ______" because that is not very good conversation).

Because names are used as association, people can ruin names for you. A negative experience with someone can forever alter the way you view their name. Someday, when you are introduced to a perfectly innocent person named Agatha, a little bitter feeling will form in the pit of your stomach as you recall the Agatha in your second-grade Sunday School class who borrowed your favorite purple crayon and never returned it. Or suppose you have always thought the name Anne is really fascinating because you envision a poetic, dreamy girl who lives in Green Gables. And then you meet an Anne in real life who smacks gum loudly and talks continually and laughs like a goose. The name "Anne" no longer reminds you of a slender redhead reciting poetry in a canoe. You instead picture this new Anne and you decide that never, ever will you name any of your children Anne.

(Names are ruined less frequently for people who have common names. For instance, I am acquainted with no less than seven Davids. Even if I had a negative experience with one of them, having positive experiences with the other six would negate the prior bad experience.)

Conversely, people can make dull names wonderful. While the name Mary might initially seem plain, if you know a Mary who can do neat things like write left-handed cursive and accurately the guess the number of jellybeans in a given jar and is a good storyteller, the name Mary suddenly seems pretty fantastic because it represents the person and is not just a combination of letters.

I've found that I can think almost objectively about names (the sound quality, etc.), provided that I have no prior association with anyone by that name, including characters in literature. Once I have been exposed even the slightest bit to a person with a name, all objectivity goes out the window and my views on that name are filtered through that person (or character). I find it interesting that names can evoke different feelings in different people based on their experiences with the people who hold the names.

As I have pondered this connection of names and the idea of people ruining names (or making them great), I have realized that, in addition to representing Christ, I am representing Laurens. If I make a negative impression on someone, I will have forever ruined the name "Lauren" for them. While they might not say it aloud, the next time they meet someone named Lauren, they will think, "I'll remember that because I really dislike Laurens".

Also, I have been reading in Revelation, and in Revelation 2:17 when Jesus is talking to the churches, He says:

"He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give him a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to him who receives it."

The word used for stone is the Greek word psēphos, meaning: "a pebble (as worn smooth by handling), that is, (by implication of use as a counter or ballot) a verdict (of acquittal) or ticket (of admission); a vote: - stone, voice."

I thought it was pretty great that not only do we get a new name, but we get it on a stone that signifies a verdict of acquittal, a ticket of admission. And further, the stone is white, symbolizing righteousness. We are acquitted from our sins, clothed in righteousness, admitted into heaven, and given a new name known only to us. I'm amazed and overjoyed! Now that's a name I will stand apart to hear, will repeat over and over, never tiring of it...

looks like we made it after all

2007-03-05T14:40:00.000-05:00

ASHLYN, LAUREN, ANSLEY, SUSAN, GRANT

1. It is Saturday. Ashlyn and I are sitting in the cafeteria on the mountain, tapping our fingers on the table. Our families have long since donned their ski gear and returned to the slopes. We check our cellphones one last time. Ashlyn breaks the silence. "It's 12:30. That means it's 2:30 in NC. Surely out rounds have been announced by now." I start dialing. I call six different people in six minutes and leave six messages on six answering machines. We have done all that we can do. We go back out to the slopes and ski some more, trying to keep our minds off of the tournament. We can't.

Forty-five minutes later, we are sitting on the chairlift. The phone rings, loudly. Ashlyn and I exchange a look of ecstatic joy. I thrust my poles at her and franticly try to dig my cell phone out of my pocket, an impossible feat in mittens. I tear off my mittens, shove them at Ashlyn, and try again. The phone stops ringing. I realize that even if I had answered the phone, my helmet would prevent me from hearing anything. I take it off. The exit station is approaching rapidly. Ashlyn lifts the bar. Lauren nearly falls off the chairlift in her excitement. We manage to get off the chairlift and throw ourselves in the snow several feet past the unloading area. I fumble the phone, my ski gear strewn about on the ground. Ashlyn and I are jumping up and down in our skis. I don't even notice that my fingers have turned into ice cubes. I have a missed call and a message. I check my message. It says, teasingly: "If you want to know the people that made it to out rounds, you'll have to answer your phone." Not helpful. I exit my voicemail and call Amanda N. back. I call four times before she picks up. She gives me the listing. She is my new best friend.

This scene was repeated almost identically every time the phone rang. We came very close to falling off the chairlift many, many times, so great was our excitement. What a tournament to miss.

2. We journaled our entire trip. An excerpt of an email to Ashlyn:

I have a BIG PLAN for our trip that is really very simple.
It involves a sketch book, double-stick tape and a 64-pack of Crayola colored pencils
We are going to journal our trip, every step of the way.
Not just in words.
We're going to include our sketches and doodles.
Also postcards, pictures, pieces of string and
anything else in our condo that is not glued down
(such as matchbook covers, hotel keys, menus, etc.).
No quote will be lost, but will be
lovingly inscribed in our little book of joy.
Every wonderful story and event will be mementoed for future generations.
And, from now on, every time our families go somewhere together, we'll get out
THE BOOK.
And if we fill it up, we will get another one.
I want it to be THICK and ready to fall apart, duct taped on the outside
and full of marvelous secrets on the inside.
Oh, I get chills.

So I invested in a spiral-bound 30-page sketchbook (it is now only 27 pages because the younger siblings begged some pages off of us), a three-pack of double-stick tape (because they only came in packs of three), and a 64-pack of Crayola colored pencils (it is now only a 63-pack because the navy blue fell off the tray table on our returning flight and was never recovered). We laughed the entire time as we filled thirteen pages of our sketchbook with quotes, sketches, secret pouches and all kinds of mementos. It is thick and lovely.

A sampling of pages is below. (Note that the pages of the book are just barely larger than the scanner, so not every word has been preserved. Also note that none of these copies do the book justice. It is a truly fantastic piece of work.)

regrets fly kites in your eyes

2007-02-18T21:47:00.000-05:00

1. Amanda and I made a pact tonight. We are going to do something enjoyable every day (not in the rent-a-movie-and-call-in-Chinese-food sense of the word, but in the have-a-sense-of-wonder sense of the word). I fall into routine far too easily, doing the same thing every day. Sometimes I even eat the same thing every day. (Recently it has been peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.) And it seems like the only time I go outside is to and from my car. This week, I am changing this. I am excited, thinking of all of the enjoyable things I am going to do.

We have plans to walk through our neighborhood one night and sit on the hill behind the tennis courts and look at the stars. (The stars really are better on her side of the neighborhood.) I also would like to go rollerblading one afternoon. The only dilemma is that I do not know how to use the brakes on my rollerblades. I should probably learn how to stop without throwing myself into someone's yard.

2. I have recently spent a lot of time looking at the back of the cereal box (partially because I have read all of the reading material downstairs and am too lazy to go upstairs to get a good book). I have found that all of the adults on the back of the Honey Bunches of Oats cereal box are left-handed. This includes the man who looks like Yul Brynner (from The King and I) and the woman who looks like she is modeling Crest Whitestrips and the woman who looks like the nose-twitching Samantha on Bewitched. They are smiling broadly in every picture as they hold a spoon to their lips. The oddity of it struck me this morning. Look - really, truly look - at the back of a cereal box next time and imagine the way that the pictures (especially the ones of real people) would look without the text next to them. It's very strange.

3. I babysit Sarah, a charming four year-old, every Thursday afternoon. This week she was eating grapes most happily, purple juice running down her chin and staining her hands. I was eating a box of raisins and I saw this as a perfect opportunity to explain to Sarah the difference between grapes and raisins (an important piece of information for the proper development of any child). "Raisins," I told her, "are just grapes that have been out in the sun." She thought about this for a moment. "And grapes," she said decisively, "are just grapes that have been in the refrigerator." Sharp kid.

4. I took the ACT last Saturday, and I am tempted to believe that it is a requirement for all standardized testing facilities to have a pencil sharpener from the 1950s (complete with a jack-in-the-box style handle that squeaks loudly) and a proctor who reads from the testing book in monotone, much like Ben Stein.

5. I went to an NCFCA practice tournament this weekend, as a personal timer for Ben B. The LD resolution is "Democracy is overvalued by the US Government". Ben's negative says that because there is not an objective standard for "value", we cannot know whether we are in fact overvaluing something (and thus, should not affirm). It is a very middle-ground, avoid-conclusion type of case, which led to some interesting debates and a particularly hilarious cross-examination, in which Ben effectively asked the judge for a double loss.

Girl: "So, if we can't objectively know how to value something, how can we objectively know that we need to negate and uphold your value?"

Ben: "We can't. We can't know if we should affirm. We can't even know if we should negate. In fact, we might as well not be debating."
[Girl looks shocked and stutters through the remaining questions.]

The personal timer muffled a laugh. (To Ben's credit, he later recanted this statement and finished up the tournament beautifully.)

the rings in the whiffletree count their secrets

2007-02-06T16:12:00.000-05:00

1. Because many of my friends live across the state, there are some situations in which I have never seen them, so I try to picture them in those situations. It is a fascinating exercise.

For instance, grocery shopping. I do not know how my friends shop for groceries. Do they push a cart slowly down every single aisle? Do they walk in and pick out exactly what they want? Do they use a cart or a basket? Do they try to carry a gallon of milk, a loaf of bread and a carton of eggs in their hands? Do they have a grocery list or do they use their memory? (If they have a grocery list, is it written on their hand or on a piece of paper?) Do they bring a calculator so they can calculate the best value? Do they read the nutrition labels? Do they talk out loud to themselves? If they decide that they do not want to purchase an item that they originally chose, do they return it to its proper place or do they set it on the closest shelf? Do they talk to the check out girl about the weather? Do they rummage through their pockets for exact change? Do they help bag their own groceries when the bagger is at another check out? Do they use paper or plastic?

I have formed such a vivid mental image of each of my friends grocery shopping, that when I am at the grocery store, I sometimes turn onto the next aisle and I fully expect that they will be there. They never are. But if they were, I know exactly what they would be doing. (I am trying to decide if this is creepy or just highly imaginative.)

2. Last week we (Susan, Mom, and I) were seated around the table in the schoolroom, copying a passage of Philippians. Mom was looked up from her page and noticed a Student Driver vehicle slowly driving past our house. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "I think they are going to do a three point turn!" Laughing, she grabbed our white board and wrote a big, fat "8" on it. I watched, curious, as my mother ran outside to the front steps. As the Student Driver executed a three-point turn and began to drive away, my mother held up the whiteboard with all of the seriousness of an Olympic judge: a score eight out of ten. It was a strange and profound moment.

3. I ate my first grapefruit. Amanda brought me one today during Spanish class, and explained to me how to cut it and eat it. I took it home and sliced open the yellow skin into halves, with a nice circle of pink in the center. It looked delightful. Using my spoon, I dipped into it (clockwise) and it bounced back at me, squirting juice into my eye. I had a battle with the grapefruit. At the end, juice was all over the counter and the grapefruit was mangled and I had not been able to enjoy more than three bites. Apparently I need a highly evolved form of cutlery known as a grapefruit spoon.

4. I really like Carl Sandburg, a lot. I like the words he uses and the way he uses them and what he has to say. I like how he mixes the concrete with the abstract. I like how he uses personification. I like his use of "..." in the middle of his poems. I just like Carl Sandburg.

Greatest Accomplishment

2007-02-02T12:00:00.000-05:00

"What is your Greatest Accomplishment?" Not only does every college want to know, but it is one of those Very Important Questions that we ought to be able to answer at any given moment. So I have been thinking about it: about the nature of a Great Accomplishment and about my Greatest Accomplishment.

I have always wanted my Greatest Accomplishment to read like an article from Reader's Digest: "She pushed past those who declared there was no hope and reached into the flaming car in a last-ditch attempt to save the small child trapped in the back seat." "The literacy rate in the rural Appalachian Mountains has increased dramatically since she began her work there." "She distracted the lion attacking a group of school children, ultimately saving many lives."

I have come to realize, however, that we can't all be a Joan of Arc. We can't all be a martyr or a hero or overcome a huge disadvantage. My Greatest Accomplishment may not change the world. It may not be published in Reader's Digest and it may not convince the application reviewers that I am a Leader of Tomorrow, but it can still be Great.

Confronting the ugliness of your own sin and dealing with it appropriately is a Great Accomplishment. Having and maintaining strong, deep friendships is a Great Accomplishment. Fulfilling commitments is a Great Accomplishment (especially when you would rather not keep the commitments). Living with integrity is a Great Accomplishment. Leading diligently is a Great Accomplishment.

Maybe everyone else had this figured out long ago, and maybe I'm being cliché. For me, the idea that I can accomplish something Great without having to rescue someone from the jaws of a shark or tie myself to a tree or found an International Organization of World Peace: this is new. And I like it.

you can get what you want or you can just get old

2006-12-06T20:32:00.000-05:00

an astonishing discovery

2006-11-15T10:54:00.000-05:00

Last night my family made an astonishing discovery.

I have been saying my name incorrectly.

The accent belongs on the first syllable but I have been putting it on the second.

I say Loren instead of LAHren.

I actually mispronounce my own name.

Others mispronounce my name, too.
When I was tutoring at the Hispanic church last night,

Felix informed me that my name rhymes with orange

and Paloma's mother told me that she calls me "Onch".

Ironic that my parents named me Lauren because

it was easy to spell.

I guess they didn't think about it being

easy to pronounce.

little joys

2006-11-09T19:05:00.000-05:00

The following conversation actually occured on my AP Language forum. It made my day.

GIRL 1: I can't believe that you believe that! I am withdrawing from this debate because apparently we don't have anything in common.

GIRL 2: That's not true. We both play the flute.

it was night [late at night]

2006-08-19T18:00:00.000-05:00

Debate Camp 2006 has come and gone. Inevitable, but sad.

We had a blast, though. It was different from last year, but I think it was better. We had more people (with more personalities and ideas) and we had spools. (Spools? Yes. Spools.)

I have so many memories that I know will be with me forever. Like watching Yeller (and, soon afterward, David) almost get smashed, listening to and quoting a song by Futureshock all week long, walking in the middle of a backroad at 3:30 in the morning, riding spools, playing capture-the-flag at midnight, making up words like hunormous, debating, listening to the musicians (Sam, Ben, Graham and Josh) play some amazing songs, swing dancing in the basement, worshipping together, going to the "creek" (or, as David called it, a "glorified sanitation drain"), listening to the Captain Planet theme song (both the old and new versions), playing knockout, swinging on the front porch, eating Christian's french toast, Ben quoting Hamlet and explaining the process of breathing to Harper, and watching towers light up from the spools at night.

It was a great way to end the summer: spending time with some of my best friends in the world, fellowshipping and laughing and praising God.

I just hate it had to end. Oh well. Laissez faire.

EDIT: pictures, anyone?

all these things shall come to pass

2006-08-11T13:55:00.000-05:00

I have 43 things I plan to do this semester:

1. Learn how to cartwheel
2. Write a song
3. Make two new friends
4. Make all A's in chemistry
5. Tour Grove City
6. Go to the county fair
7. Take pictures of Grandfather Mountain in the fall
8. Enter an essay contest
9. Take a yoga class
10. Learn to sing a song in Italian
11. Become a much better conversationalist
12. Improve the Meet & Greet Team
13. Read Hebrews with commentary
14. Go 6-0 at a debate tournament
15. Read a book outside when it gets cold
16. Plan a ski trip
17. Take a dancing class
18. Have tea time every day
19. Master Sudoko
20. Read more Robert Frost and Emily Dickinson
21. Read Anna Karenina
22. Make homemade bread
23. Learn how to make friendship bracelets
24. Bike the Virginia Creeper
25. Hike Grandfather Mountain
26. Canoe the New River
27. Have a Christmas party
28. Learn how to ride a horse
29. Memorize the prayer of St. Francis
30. Start swimming again
31. Paint
32. Practice guitar faithfully
33. Write letters I will never send
34. Enter a photography contest
35. Fill up my journal
36. Write to Lands End
37. Find a caramel-colored fleece jacket
38. Make homemade candy with my grandmother
39. Go for a long walk in my neighborhood
40. Play tennis again
41. Be organized
42. Go to a policy debate tournament to cheer on my friends
43. Learn oragami

we'll get there fast and then we'll take it slow

2006-08-07T11:00:00.000-05:00

I knew it would be an interesting trip when the Suburban pulled into our driveway. The vehicle was covered in writing: "We're going coastal!", "Kure or bust" and "Honk if you love Kure!". (There was also a picture of me being eaten by a shark.) Additionally, streamers were attached to the handles and pinwheels were placed on top of the car next to the boogie boards. And when I got in the car, Grant sprayed silly string in my face.

At every stop light on our way to Kure Beach, one of the kids would invariably yell over the Beach Boys to say, "Wouldn't it be great if we had confetti to throw out the window?" (We were already getting looks from every car around us. One car even stopped to ask us if we were moving there or if we were in a competition.)

After five hours in the car with three kids who have yet to master the concept of "inside voice", we arrived at our ghetto condo, right on the beach.

The week went by quickly. We all got some sun(burn), rode some amazing waves, took some long walks on the beach, met some interesting people, worshipped and got stung by the infamous Kure jellyfish. I slept til 10 every day (except when Ashlyn set the alarm to wake me up), ate broccoli as an afternoon snack (I bought my own stash when we went grocery shopping), made cake (with sprinkles) and learned to surf (courtesy of Ben B).

Ben came to our place on Thursday afternoon and brought his surfboard. He spent several hours teaching me how to surf and I pretty much mastered it. We had a great time, and then Ben had to get gas from some Mexicans, or some other crazy story. Things always happen to him that are completely unbelievable, yet true. I'll never understand.

Just like in Madeline, that's all there is. There isn't any more.

through rain and snow and sleet and hail

2006-07-28T17:03:00.000-05:00

I have decided that the mailman is a dear friend. (Except on Tuesdays. On those days he is my worst enemy, for instead of glad tidings he brings advertisements for pizza and ValuePacks with worthless coupons.) The mailman gives me a reason to look forward to 3:00pm by faithfully lowering the red flag on my mailbox and placing in it the sentiments of my valued friends.

I love getting letters. I love ripping open envelopes and reading words written to me. I love the poetry scrawled in familiar handwriting on the back of an envelope, and the exotic postmarks from other countries. I love the artistic stamps and the thick envelopes. I love the postcards with their beautiful pictures. And I love the way each sentence, each paragraph, each page lets me feel that my friend is there, beside me.

I have four boxes full of letters that I have saved. They come from all over: from Malaysia to West Point and from Moscow to Chicago. I write letters, too, for a letter unreturned is a great tragedy.

The mail doesn't come again until 3:00pm tomorrow. Here's hoping it brings a flood of letters.

artistic pursuits

2006-07-25T21:14:00.000-05:00

The past few days, I have spent some time viewing photography on art websites (usually small talent with a Polaroid, as above) and I have been captivated by numerous photos with their various perspectives. Eric Liddel said, "When I run, I feel the pleasure of God." In worldview class, we have talked about being called to do whatever makes us feel the pleasure of God, and photography does that for me. I want photography to be part of my life, and I know that it will (as will living in Europe and hiking the Appalachain Trail). I cannot be so touched by pictures and walk away from that feeling.

I want to explore the idea of manipulating light and color and perspective to transform the mudane into extraordinary. I want to capture moments forever. I want to master this skill. And most of all, I want to walk down the cobblestone streets in Stratford-upon-Avon with a Polaroid camera around my neck.

my favorite park

2006-07-24T20:16:00.000-05:00

i like this picture. it reminds me of my childhood, when my grandfather would take me to a park in boone; he in his ivy lee cap, and i with my pigtails. the park was different than any other i had ever seen. in place of the newer plastic slides usually found in parks, this place had oldschool slides - metal, hot from the midday sun, painted dark red with the same texture as in the picture above. i remember looking down, making sure my grandfather was at the end to catch me, lest i tumbled into the grass. the park also had many swings with long rope so that you could swing into the bright blue sky. my grandfather would push me as we talked; simple conversations - i was only seven - but meaningful. there was also a large, round metal platform, colored blue and green, that would spin when pushed. i could stand up and ride as my grandfather pushed the platform along, grabbing it by the handles. later, when he was tired, he would watch me from a bench as i rode those animals that bounced, usually choosing the green frog. i can close my eyes and picture the park as it was, my grandfather as he was eight years ago.

things have changed. the park has deteriorated: vandals have marked it with graffiti, the swings now squeak, the trees around it are dying. and, like the park, my grandfather is deteriorating. he can no longer do the things he used to do. instead of visiting a park or taking a walk, we sit and talk about our heritage, history, old coins, family, the current events of the day. and i love it, even more than the park and the swings and the slide.