the rose of kiev

Woosh. It's been quite a long Christmas week. I haven't worked since last Friday, meaning a full glorious 6 days away from registers and managers, and I'm sitting here yawning tonight swearing that I was just at work not even a couple days ago. I'll have to wake up at 6:30 tomorrow for a 7 hour shift starting bright and early at 8am; the first hour or so is slow and allows for a lot of mental downtime and boy do I need the downtime so as to keep processing the thoughts, the memories, the goodness of the past week. For the first time since Thanksgiving I spent a night away from what I now call home; for the first time ever, I spent several nights in a row a bed shared with my sister or splitting (theoretically) a pull-out couch with my punk soon-to-be-step-brother. I was in houses I've called home with no room to call mine; for the first time in my life when my items dawdled on my dad's living room floor I had a fluttering impulse to scoop my things up and at l

In the past, my dad always used to tease his brother about marrying a high-maintenance woman. My Aunt Susan is classy, organized, always dresses well and is never mismatched. And now, with great glee, my Aunt Susan and Uncle Scott are turning every pun back on my father because he went from a marriage five years ago to a woman more concerned with comfort than class to an engagement with a woman who has to somehow somewhere be in the same gene pool with my Aunt Susan because their similarities are uncanny, to their great delight. Robin always dresses well, especially on days she gets to see my dad, loves to shop, and never mismatches. Ever. And when she does, say, commit a taboo like wearing a white purse with a black-theme outfit she feels the need to call her 19-year-old daughter in disbelief; to which Lauren will, quite seriously, ask if Robin is running a fever. Dad has been with this lady for almost a year now and due to her generosity and fondness of me she has expanded my wardrob

A girl I've known since I was in middle school called and woke me around 10:30 this morning (trust me, I am living up the Christmas break life for all it's worth) to update me on her life. This was the second phone conversation I've had with her since she moved to southern Ohio with her boyfriend and his family a little before I moved into the girls' house in September. The first conversation was maybe 90 seconds, a brief giddy invite to be a kimono-wearing bridesmaid for her summer wedding. That means she would be married at 20; I looked at myself and realized that I myself am not ready for such a thing and won't be for a while, and knowing my friend I couldn't say that she's honestly ready for such a commitment either, but is going along with the thought because we girls, we like weddings. The presents, the attention, the pretty dresses - we love the whole scene. We sometimes forget that marriage happens after that, and that marriage life is very different

Just try and pronounce that, I dare ya. It sounds intimidating but it really isn't as ridiculous as it sounds. It's a thyroid condition that kicks my heart rate, rate of speech, metabolism, and energy into high gear while dropping my attention span to that of an ADD 4-year-old. Just before I was diagnosed at 12 I spent a summer doing the craziest things sleepwalking because my body just could not relax in this condition. At summer camp I would try and walk outside into the woods every night, at home I would steal the bath mat and hide it under my covers or randomly wake up on the couch some mornings, never having the slightest idea what happened. Thankfully, my condition's been well-treated by the process of slowly killing off my uncooperative thyroid and giving me a medical supplement in its place, the level of medication finally balanced to the level I need. But there's a side effect I didn't anticipate: apparently the level of supplement isn't enough to send

Every morning on school days the first thing I do when I tumble out of bed is check how cold it is on my roommate's computer. The second thing I do every school morning is to look out the bathroom window before getting in the shower to see what the weather is doing and how I should dress for my walk to the bus. Let me say this - walking in the rain early on a Monday morning is not the brightest way to start the week, but at least I'm prepared for it when it happens. After an unnaturally warm November and a dry first week of December I was starting to think I'd be sun-tanning rather than snow-tunneling on Christmas Day. I've wanted snow so bad since Thanksgiving ended, even to the point where I've had more than one dream where I looked out my bedroom window and saw a snowy world of white only to wake up and look out in bitter disappointment to a sunny 65 degree day. This morning when I rolled out of bed my roommate's computer told me it was in the mid-20s, which

It's 7 in the morning and I've already gotten up, put on deodorant, and jogged more than 20 minutes with some of my roommates. Who abducted my body and is living in mine, because this just isn't something Heather does, especially on days where she has no commitments until work at 2. With every step, lungs burning with that terribly wonderful tingling, I had to tell myself that this is good for me, that I'm earning those pieces of pie back off my body from Thanksgiving, that I'll have endorphins in my system the rest of the day, anything to keep putting one sneaker in front of the other. Thank God for roommates with a sense of motivation else I would never hit that street at a pace faster than a brisk walk to work. And not only do Niccole and Erin keep me moving (my companions this morning) but the majority of my house. There's a high school a block or so from where I live and yesterday 5 of us took advantage of the obscenely gorgeous November day and walked down

You never realize how much you like your roommates until you realize how eerie your house is without them moving around and laughing in distant rooms. My mom and step-dad drove down from Mansfield so we can all three work in the morning, then commute back for one more day with my grandparents after, and I'm home alone while my roommates are still all gone with family. Even one home aside from me would make the house profoundly less empty. It was a good Thanksgiving, yummy and funny and sad all rolled together. My mom's mom (I have a lot of grandmothers so I always have to differentiate) slaved in the kitchen all day long, getting progressively more flustered as the dishes became done in an amount her two hands couldn't handle. Papa (what we call my grandmother's husband) made a superb turkey, the melt-in-your-mouth kind where even the white meat is juicy. Yes, I prefer dark meat, and am still incensed at McDonald's for discontinuing dark meat in their chicken nugget

My brother turned 12 on the 17th of this month. I remember when I was younger, being the bookworm I was and reading my age-appropriate books, I thought there was something magical about being 12. Not just 12, but being 12 . In the books the characters all seem to have something important happen to them. Well, I turned 12 in sixth grade and that is the reason I never turned 12 . Admittedly, I was quite the geek, but still middle school was a nasty place. But even though my brother turned 12 in sixth grade as well, he got to turn the magical 12 because he got a gift I am totally stealing a piece of when I spend Thanksgiving with my family. Me, mature moved-out rent-paying 19-year-old stealing my little brother's birthday gift not even a week after he got it. But this is one of those magical gifts. For ages I have been the only child of the three in my family who had any taste for reading. My pre-teen sister, in sheer defiance, refuses to allow herself to enjoy a book simply because

So many things have been going through my head lately. Mostly it feels like a stream of nonsense bouncing off the insides of my skull because some days I don't feel like there aren't enough hours in the day to get in everything I need (or want) to do. Thus why I'm listening to Rascal Flatts' "Backwards" to loosen me up a smidge. It has been a whirlwind month of adjustment and kicking my own butt to be responsible with my new independence (this past sunday was the one month marker for being in the new house). I think the dust is settling some, especially as I'm getting into the swing of things and should (hopefully) have a smaller and more reasonable work schedule as of next week. But even though I've been stretched and stressed and driven to tears once or twice (for both negative and wonderful things), this past month I think I've learned a surprising amount about myself. Nothing really profound I don't think, after all it's only been 4 wee

There are some days I'd just rather not deal with it. I will wake up on days I have to work and dread having to donate a 7-hour chunk of time to GE. Visions of the growing amount of hours weigh on my mind, pressed down by the general confusion and chaos which is the front end of the store. Our best manager? Transferred to a different store. Our other manager who has been around for a couple years? Not currently working because he's in and out of the hospital. New current manager? A woman with a stubborn vision to reform the store in the midst of this upheaval, and who plays favorites. How do you know you're an enemy of hers? If you ask to be unavailable on an inconvenient day of the week and she cuts your hours as low as possible. How do you know you're a favorite? If you work your butt off picking up slack from other front end cashiers, two-thirds of which have been hired inside the past 2 or 3 months, and come in when you're scheduled and give her plenty of notice

I had a good weekend. Saturdays off from work and class are going to be an invaluable key to retaining my sanity and unwinding one hectic week after another. They're also my planned time to hang out with The Boyfriend, who surprised me with a trip to the Columbus Conservatory and a dinner out and (get this) all while voluntarily wearing a button-up shirt. When he came to pick me up I saw he was wearing it and heard little bells go off in my head. Since he was going through Henry withdrawal (my mother's cat, and the real reason why Dave deigns to date me) we stopped at my mother's house and ended up staying to watch the OSU football game with my mom and stepdad. After such new busyness I haven't had much time with him it seems, so a day spent talking and having fun together was a welcome treat. Tonight I went back to my dad's house to continue trying to empty out my old bedroom. My little brother has been circling lower and lower like the property vulture he is, DYIN

All my sweatshirts and skirts and jackets are hanging in the furthermost corner of the closet. The giant tupperware containers I bought 2 days ago are nestled perfectly under my bed and full of my shoes. My dresser drawers are full and organized. My laundry bag is starting to fill up. My journals are in the short bookshelf at the foot of my bed. My books are an armslength away from my computer just outside the bedroom door. My shampoo bottles are starting to show empty space just below the line of the lid. My tube of toothpaste is starting to have a 2-dimensional feel about it. I have a half-eaten green pepper in the upstairs fridge, right next to an egg carton missing two eggs. My boxes of cereal have empty space when I shake them. My bananas are starting to spot with age. The piece of twisted plastic keeping my bag of bread fresh keeps lengthening as my bread supply shrinks. It's my turn to do the dishes tonight and I used the smaller skillet to make scrambled eggs for lunch; it&

It's not quite noon and the house will be quiet for a few more minutes; my mother and stepfather will be out of church soon and asking me if I'm ready to go, my dad and brother will be back from their errand, and my teeny-bopper sister will be awakened from her mid-morning nap. Once my family begins to build momentum for the day I'll have to start making phone calls to let people know that things are in motion. I am leaving so much stuff - just STUFF - behind at my parents' houses. I've been downsizing and downsizing my wardrobe (which got surprisingly big with two bedrooms to grow in) and I'm afraid I still have way too much packed. I probably do, it's in my genes. You should see my father's mother when she packs for a week-long vacation out of state. You'd think by the size of her multiple bags she's going to clothe all the needy in a fifty-mile radius and still have a different outfit for every day. It's weird - it's been five years si

2 days ago I had a coffee date with the girl "in charge" of the house I'll be moving into this Sunday. Snuggled down in a sweatshirt over a white chocolate mocha during a drizzly afternoon we went over last minute details to make sure she and I were on the same page. As we wrapped everything up, she told me to wait and dashed to the car; coming back in with a polka dot gift bag I had only eyes for what lay behind the curled red ribbon tying the two handles together: two shiny silver keys. Inside the bag was a beautiful red journal and a heap of candy from all the girls to welcome me into the house, but I couldn't get over the feel of those keys in my hand with fresh cut grooves. I marveled at the sight of them threaded onto my keychain as Sarah Brasse's eyes danced from across the table. I looked up, feeling the warmth of the mocha spread from my abdomen to my fingers and toes and the ends of my hair. "It's real, isn't it?" I said. "It's

I've always hated the feeling that comes with watching the cursor blink with boredom on a clean computer screen. Nothing seems to mock me more than to have the space to say something and have nothing to say. I've been getting that response frequently lately and after talking with mom I think it might be because my darn medication is not quite up to snuff. It's definetely closer to par this time around but something is still off, something subtle. I suppose I'll have to wait until my October "follow up appointment" to see if we need to up the ante as far as dosage. For the first time ever I gave into what I've always felt to be a morbid impulse: I poked about online for information about my thyroid. Although thoroughly entertained by the fact that my condition going untreated in men gives them temporary bosoms, I couldn't tune out my frustration at my own body. I am stuck with this. It is going to mess with me my whole life. I am going to be dependent o

First I ask if I can borrow my mom's favorite book "What's So Amazing About Grace?" By Phil Yancey because I need something fresh for my summer reading cache. Then Thursday night I went to an amazing Bible study - the title was "Self works vs. Grace", in which I took so many notes I could barely keep up with myself. Continuing into Friday I learnt grace by painful and beautiful example in relation to myself. And now I will soon have an opportunity to - guess what? - use grace in an up and coming meeting with an old friend, persay. God...you wouldn't happen to be trying to teach me something, now would you?

So Dave and I went to the Goo Goo Dolls/Counting Crows concert this past Friday. Johnny Rzeznik was beautiful and high; the band was lovely and lazy but I got to see Johnny and hear him talk in his state of highness ("Is this that sweet shit that tastes like baby aspirin and vodka?") so I was content. That and they played all of my favorite songs, if not as well as their albums. The Crows surpassed them in terms of genuinity and energy. The lead singer still has this perplexed mass of dreadlocks settled atop his skull. The last song they played is Dave's favorite of theirs and he swayed (gasp!) and sang along (DOUBLE GASP!!) with them without any encouraging prods from his girlfriend who actually enjoys big group settings. We were accompanied by Dave's two siblings, his 32-year-old brother Colin and mid-20-something sister Rina, making Dave the baby of the siblings. And what a bunch. Dave was positively Herculean when contrasted with his slightly built brother and sis

I GOT MY LICENSE TODAY THAT IS ALL

I am listening to Jack Johnson but it's not a Jack Johnson kind of day. Jack Johnson is the kind of music that makes you shuffle rhythmically to the picking sounds of his guitar, the kind of music that makes you swing your hips a little with every step, the kind of music that when you ride your bike early on a warm sunny morning you weave back and forth across the road and relish the feel of cool air wooshing over your face and bringing you fully awake. Today has been grey skies all day with the smallest ongoing threat of rain and my body has rarely stirred from the "at rest" position, and here it is late afternoon and I have done absolutely nothing with myself. But the joy of listening to Jack on a non-Jack Johnson day is that it infects the day a little bit with what it should be, or at least brings up memories of Jack Johnson days you've had in the past. This is why I like Mr. Johnson so much. Double that, because Dave gave this cd to me and introduced me to his mu

Months ago I submitted a couple of my poems to the creative writing paper at my college. My best and my babies. Opening my school email I finally received a polite return from the Spring Street paper. They said better luck next year.

She's 6 foot even and I'm five-three short. I have dark straight hair she has lighter nappy hair. Freckles are sprinkled across her cheekbones while I have 2 moles, one on my right thigh and one on my right shoulder. I'm two years her senior age-wise and one year her senior academics-wise. What in God's name could we possibly have in common? Sports and words. Do we play and write differently? Oh hell yeah. There are lightyears of difference. But over that span is a definete untouchable bond because more often than not we compliment each other. In sports she's the all-or-nothing player, who when she's on her game can spike the volleyball down the opposing team's gullet without even a chance at retaliation, or who can make that ball take off with flames licking its laces as it clears the fence with the sound of her bat still ringing in triumph. And when she's down and out, she's dangerous - a loose cannon is usually the best visual, loaded with power b

"I'm going to start calling you Gamma Girl." "Gamma Girl...I can live with that. So what are my superpowers since I'm radioactive?" "You don't get powers, no way." "What?! Spiderman gets bitten by a radioactive spider and gets Spidey Sense!" "Fine, you get to glow green. How's that?" On Monday there was a tad bit of hubbub among my friends when the husband of a pregnant friend of mine began teaching our Bible Study. "So, yeah, we're all playing soccer at Beakman after this and, by the way, all pregnant women stay away from Heather because she's radioactive. OK now everyone, Luke 6 tonight..." Yeah, that made for some interesting conversations. And the nickname of Gamma Girl, bestowed kindly by my friend David. In case you can't tell comic books rotted out his brain from a very early age. As of 11 this morning I am very officially and very very mildly radioactive. I went in (not allowed to eat breakf

Today was a pleasant surprise as far as hospital visits go. Typically I'll have a visit scheduled in the middle of a perfectly good day which will suck up the middle three-and-a-half hours therefore ruining the day in total. And you know what percentage of those 210 minutes are actual diagnosis?? The same percentage you tip a waitress, a whopping 15%, and that's on good days. But I've seen those medical bills and I'll be damned if they don't get paid for having me breathe the air in their waiting room as well. Typical procedure: arrive in the parking garage and purchase a two dollar token on the way to the endocrinologist office of Dr. Sotos (it means he's a gland disorder expert, and my thyroid is the gland in question). Sit in the waiting room ankle-deep in plastic trucks and puzzles of ducks with 3 pieces missing, occasionally tossed around by the odd 4-year-old with their surly middle school sibling sulking in the corner. And you wait. That's why it'

This is how you start the day. This morning my dad went to Tim Horton's and got me a mocha coffee (just right) a vanilla parfait (bless him, I love fruit beyond all other food) and a lightly glazed cinnamon roll. We took over the TV as we pleased and I subjected him to my favorite Seinfeld episode - the little chilren whom I am related to are still away at camp and therefore aren't around to make any comments or ruin the punch lines with a loud "WHAT DOES THAT MEAN, HEATHER? I DON'T GET IT." I loved camp when I was little but I can now see why my parents sent me. Now I've got my favorite journal set out in front of me, wide open and filling up with thoughts and verses and really thinking about things. Nothing taunts me quite like blank journal pages that I can't fill upon their contact with the air. But the white is disappearing under oodles of beautiful Psalms and verses investigating prayer and whatnot to satisfy my spiritual curiousity, accompanied by g

I pride myself on my ability to sleep in an infinete number of situations and places. Everything from consistent comfort on airplanes to complete out cold-ness on a sheet on a hospital floor. And here I am at my dad's fiance's and I can't feel tired for the life of me. A comfy bed, a TV with channels that go higher than I can count at this time of night, and a laptop with internet. And I can't fall asleep. When we first arrived in Perrysburg I told Robin I had a craving for fruit, were those cartons of strawberries on the counter up for grabs, I am a shameless craver right now. Turning her back to me she opens the fridge door and this light so bright and pure emanates from it so that I can't look into it. As I'm averting my eyes from whatever holiness is in her fridge, I sense the light shifting and as I look into Robin's outstretched hands I see...a pound of cherries. First off, I love cherries. Passionately. Second, I work at a grocery store so I know what

Life is weird That's really all there is to it. It's unpredictable, funny, horrible, amazing, quirky, and full of the most incredible surprises. Here is an account of something catalogued under AMAZING and INCREDIBLE SURPRISE: At church yesterday I got my customary doting by a guy friend of mine who has the biggest most obvious crush on me. He's a good guy, he knows I've got a boyfriend, and he knows that I know about his crush. But this high school sophomore kid is still one of my good friends and always funny to hang with. At times his adoring attention makes me feel bad, because I really want him to have a good relationship with a good gal some day (but odds are that gal isn't gonna be me) and I don't wanna distract him from that. But for now he and I are simply good friends, and I guess I'll time take care of the rest. But being on his mind all the time has its big payoffs, and not just in flattery. I was in the lobby not 60 seconds when I feel a body pu

Well, to my two commentors who sound so aggressive in my (or their) defense, and other people interested, to clarify that last entry is about that one person I tried to be friends with again whom I had extreme doubts about. Well, my doubts were crystallized several weeks ago and that's that. No reason or explanation, just an ugly meltdown among my circle of friends. The swell of drama was over and out of curiousity I went to his blog to see his status, because he never minces his opinion. The entry had nothing to do with me, but I felt a tug to leave something. Knowing how highly he values Scripture I picked out some verses and left the references, reluctant to hit the "post" button and possibly turn the key that unlocked another Pandora's box. But I felt that tug again, and clicked with gritted teeth. I wanted to be afraid, to go back and delete it, but felt that tug a third time to let the stone I threw in the water rest and ripple as it might. And there have been r

There was one CSI episode (no idea which city it was in, though, there's way too many to remember) that captivated me. A very young female investigator helped in the case of a murdered 19-year-old girl. Of course, in the end they caught the perpetrator, but on physical evidence alone. They could not find a shred of motive for him to do it. In the interrogation room, she looked at him and asked "Why did you do it?" Remaining silent, already convicted beyond rescue, he called out to be retrieved, that he was done talking to the detective. Then, a week later, she came down to the prison, a haunted glow in her face. She arranged for him to come down to the phone booths, and he started with an ugly twisted smile when he saw who it was. Pressing the handpiece tight to her ear, she pleaded with him on the verge of tears "Please...I need to know why you did this..." Lacking emotion except for the hint of a self-gratifying sneer, he said "You came all the way down h

"In a place where we only say goodbye It stung like a violent wind That our memories depend On a faulty camera in our minds And I knew that you were a truth I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all" In Death Cab for Cutie 's song "What Sarah Said" from their new cd Plans this bit jumped out at me. The song smacks of my Easter experience in the first place, and then this insightful lyricism slides into my ears and waits for me to comtemplate it. oh the wonders of lyric poetry...

I really want to write due to a recent inspiration, but I'm not sure what to write about aside from the inspiration itself. That or the man in the kilt who came into Giant Eagle but that's more a comic moment than an actual story. Yesterday Columbus State (my college) had this big thing set up on the center of the grounds they called the "Spring Fling". It was like a miniature carnival almost, and would've been amazing if it hadn't started to rain just as they set everything up...giant inflatable slides and mazes... brightly colored jewelry and shirt stands....hawking army and marine and air force men hustling young men into their areas eager to recruit them...even the atheist's club had a table set up (which I had to resist the temptation to hassle)...and a hot dog/bratwurst/roasted corn stand. Bumping into my good friend Josey from my old church ( New Life ); she and Matt and I were a threesome back in the last year of high school. It's still a three

i need something to write about no English this quarter is killing me

--Every morning I have math class; I take the Davidson Hall set of elevators to my third floor classroom, and that's my half-conscious routine. However, this past week and the week before, the second elevator has been inexplicably out of order, reducing the load of students per "ding" noticeably. Fed up with waiting until the second wave, I took to the stairs, grumbling and griping in my non-morning-person mood. To my surprise, a motley handful of college kids craned their necks my direction and asked "Hey - you got 5 minutes?" Another glance betrayed the sight of a video recorder clenched in the fist of a mop-topped boy, and the wide young man who first greeted me launched into his explanation. "We're shooting a short film for our Video/Audio class and I'm the lead guy who's cheating on his girlfriend." "Do I really look like the cheating-on-girlfriend type?" He laughed. "Just sit and talk with me and say whatever - there