Yes, I Have a Problem

Hey, there. Do you really want to know why I’m so sad today?

It’s a long story. No, it’s a really long story. I was kicked out of a country back when I was fourteen, and I get sad every year around when it happened. Then I go through the archives of my family’s blog to relive the events as they happened. That makes sure the whole thing is one big bittersweet mess.

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Backyard Missions

I had a conversation a few weeks ago with a woman who outwardly fit the bill of “Good Christian.” She was kind. She helped others even when they didn’t ask. She gave without a thought of getting anything back. The conversation was held over a lunch that she had paid for out of the goodness of her heart, and she had spent most of the day helping me and my brother at our work in the 90 degree weather.

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The stick of doom

Today I met my current arch nemesis. Laugh all you want, because it was a little blue Honda. I’m a good enough driver at this point in my life that cars don’t scare me anymore (well, until I think about all the other people on the road) but this car had something a little out of the ordinary. 

I’m talking about a manual transmission. The kind with a clutch… and the stick of doom. 

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Writing Stories

I wrote a short story on October 18th, 2015. It’s ten pages long— the result of a particularly vivid dream I had. (I won’t bore you with the details. Dreams should be summed up in one sentence or not at all.) I did nothing with the story until May of the following year, when I did something I would never, ever normally do. I wrote a sequel. Then I wrote another. And another. And another.

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Where is Tigger?

“I’m Pooh,” said Pooh. 
“I’m Tigger,” said Tigger. —A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner

 

Squeals of delight.

Dad has been reading A.A. Milne’s beloved Winnie the Pooh stories to my younger siblings for the past few weeks, just like he did with me and Jack. Though the tales have been enjoyed by all (even me, listening in as I wash dishes) there has been one fateful question asked every night.

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