Stumped

I'm stumped. As the title of this post so elegantly puts it.
I spent several days at the beach, and collected a whole keel-full of shells. I think they are some of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. I can (apparently - this is a recent discovery) sit on the floor for hours just organizing and re-organizing them into categories - just for the excuse of handling and looking at them.
And having brought them back and having nothing useful to do with them, I want to give them to my friends so that they can share in the beauty of them. Only I have realized, from past endeavors of this sort, that not everybody cares for shells as much as I do.
So I have a dilemma. Do I just give a shell to everybody, and hope that, even if they don't like the shell, they'll appreciate the gift/thought? Or do I attach a note explaining what I think about the shells? I couldn't figure it out. I even typed up a sample note. See?

"You may or may not like shells as much as I do- you may not care much about them at all. So let me explain. If I'm giving you these shells, it's both because I have seen something of divine design in you, and because that has made my life more beautiful. They are for you because I want you to remember that.

Some of the shells are whole, some broken. I call the broken ones "beautiful pieces" - because even the shell of a shell is beautiful, both with the original beauty and a new one that comes from being broken.

So- I hope you like the shells for their own sake."

But I just can't bring myself to spend all that postage-money if people won't care? Maybe? But then I get so caught up in seeing how beautiful they are that I can't imagine someone not being absolutely delighted on opening their mailbox and seeing a seashell in it. Sigh.
Don't worry, H and Ms, you're getting some, no matter what I decide about everyone else.

home again home again

On the 30th of December, 2010, I stood on the windy winter beach and hurled my voice Southward across the sea. I don't think it got very far; my lungs throw like a girl. But the water was like silkily shattering glass: green, smooth & sharp. Gulls flew past me every now & again, low over the water - as if they thought I was shouting into the sky like they do, so didn't mind my presence. It was a shame, I thought, that there was no one to photograph the scene, as my pink sweater would have made a nice contrast with the colors of sand, sky and sea. It was a perfect moment. I fit, like a piece in a puzzle, into the scene.
Not so with my family. I am realizing that, no matter how well I think I know them, I am operating out my knowledge of them in the past. Sometimes that works great. Other times it perpetuates past hurts. I also realized that part of the reason I have more fun with my friends than with my family is that with friends, I try to. It felt really weird to figure that out, 'cause I knew it, but was somehow too lethargic to do anything about it. I just lay on my back staring at the ceiling fan while my mother and sister argued about where to go to dinner and my dad stormed out to "get the car ready" - really to cool his head. And this was supposed to be our family time, where we enjoyed one another's company. We just... none of us were excited about it. We didn't expect to entertain each other, or to laugh with one another. All we saw - all we generally see - is the tensions and habitual arguments and pains that we go through/put one another through. And all I managed to do about it was stare at a ceiling fan.

The yearly family beach vacation was mostly like that paragraphs above. The beach was its fantastic, magical, natural, beautiful - you get the picture - self. It even gave such an abundance of shells that even my grandmother, who has been going to that same beach for a good forty or so years, was all astonishment. We found more of these puppies than we cared to count, in all sizes, from 2-3 mm long to 8-9 cm long. I mean, that shit was crazy. Not to mention some of these, these, these, and plenty of these. Then the family bit was more along the lines of the second paragraph. Familiar, mostly friendly, but with the usual crazy floating just underneath, just suppressed in honor of the words "beach" and "vacation". I learned a lot about my family. Coming back and looking at it from a more grown up perspective... I learn more every time. I now know that what my family calls crazy and impossible is more like lonely and helpless - although sometimes, I grant you, it's manipulative and controlling. It just depends on the degree.
Sigh. Anyway. There's more to say, but I just remembered I wanted to read something before tonight's new years' party.
Remind me to talk about vanity & comfort, ok? Here's a teaser trailer:
If being girly means vanity, selfishness, and wantonly spending money, I want none of it. I will proudly be un-girly. I would much rather be ladylike.

Teehee

Marecel the Shell. With shoes on.

Blue Pelicans and other Seabirds

So. Today we went to the beach. I thought you should see why this blog is called pelicans and other seabirds. :P

Typical

A typical night at the Obfuscation family house:
In the corner of the kitchen/dining/livingroom closest to the door, my father, working on the computer and watching TV on the internet.
In the corner with the most windows, opposite my father, my mother, watching TV on the intenet.
In the corner with the comfiest couch, my sister, checking facebook and watching TV on the internet.

I can tell they probably do this 75% of all the days in a week. And me? I'm sitting here at the kitchen table, blogging and waiting for it to be 8 already so I can get out of the house to somewhere where there is the sound of people talking to each other and enjoying one another's company. Sheesh. Has anyone heard of human interaction? Have I?

over 'n out.
E.O.

Snuggling w/my cousins on the couch watching their new fav kiddie movie
=
pure awesome.

Wistful

Let me start out by saying: I am happy with my life. Happier than I've been with it in a long, long time. Happier than I was when my sister and I still called Europe "home".
There are days though. Days like this, around the holidays, when all my TCK friends are talking about flying home- to Wien, to Luxembourg, to Bourg d'Oisans- and about going to Christkindlmarkt's. On those days, part of me wishes that I could fly home for the holidays, home to my Europe.
Yesterday I went to a choral performance with my roommate. We got there early, and as we waited we looked around the church where it was being held. There was a smallish wooden nativity scene there, with a few carved figurines, a bit of dried grass, and a wood hut to house them. The wood was beautiful and all, but I was struck, when I saw it, with an emotion I did not expect: disappointment. And a bit of disdain, too. I missed the elaborate Belens of Catalunya. So, to make the memory come to life before my own eyes, I started to describe it to my roommate, whose face lit up with the very wonder I had hoped for.
So though I have come to terms with the fact that going home to my parents means a twenty-minute drive into the suburbs of the city, there are some things I reserve the right to miss; like the streets of Europe at Christmastime.
(to see some examples of what I'm talking about, search "Belen navidad" in google images.)
over 'n out.
E.O.