It's 6:51. That's AM. I've been up for over an hour. I also didn't really sleep last night. So when I say "up," I mean only that I've been continuously vertical, in a purposeful fashion. And my eyes have been open, though consciousness is debatable. My feelings on the matter can be summed up in one word.

Ouch.

Will the bus please hurry up and arrive so I can sleep while going home? Pretty, pretty please?

I'm the Queen of the May!

Today I went over the back hill with Slonner and we picked flowers. I wore them home. No, you may not have pictures. Not yet, at any rate.

I've been enjoying my time in New Bruswick, but things have been mercifully short of blogging material. I have not stabbed myself in the foot, (that was last week), I made all my bus connections and got off at the right stops, (unlike last year), all my luggage is with me, (curse you, Air Canada), and I haven't stepped on any slugs.

Oh wait, I did.

I stepped on a slug, and I wasn't wearing shoes.

I know, you're all scarred now. ^_^

Anyhow, I'll hit the high points.

• On Monday Slonner and I made it safely to Grammy and Grampy's house, and then we chiefly slept.
• Tuesday we mall-ratted, as I believe I mentioned, and I didn't buy any books! My canvas shoes were tan when I bought them. Then we went to Value Village, where I did buy books.
• Wednesday we walked along the walking trail on the waterfront, and across the old train bridge. I brought my camera but was sorely remiss in taking pictures. The tan shoes became more dusty coloured.
• Thursday Slonner and I took the bus across town to the mall again. There we met up with Historian and his lovely wife, we discussed smuggling methods, and then we watched UP in the theater. The meeting, the discussion and the movie were all lovely. ^_^
• Friday we went up country and clamored around a waterfall. The shoes became more and more brown, with green streaks. Moss is treacherous, did you know that? Also, dogs enjoy drying themselves on your legs, it seems. We had dinner in the EIO and came home, and then we watched Yours, Mine and Ours, and had banana splits. A very good evening. :D
• Saturday, I walked over the back hill in my bare feet, and met slugs. So when I came back for round two of the ramble, shoes were involved. Said shoes are now really brown, and green, and speckled, and wet, and well broken in. I also wore through a blister on the back of my heel, (red patch!) and met my Cousin's husband for the first time with a bouquet of flowers woven in my hair. I'm so awesome. :D Then we had a family dinner, and I listened avidly while inhaling marvelous food. Salads, sandwiches, good bread, and chocolate mousse for dessert. Mmmmmm.

And tomorrow I go home on eht bus with Slonner! So I should get off of my aunt's internet and go pack. *waves*

I write this as I download the Free Single Of The Week from itunes via Chapters/Starbucks. Yep. ^_^

I'm in Chapters, using free internet and considering buying some very definately not free coffee at starbucks. Slonner and I have had a good time roving about the mall. I bought some eight dollar canvas shoes at Wal-mart! I found that I'd only brought sandals. Which are lovely and all, but they aren't really set up for long distance walking. Next we rove some more, and then off to Value Village! :D

So, on Sunday I'm heading off to the Mainland for a week. I thought I should mention this BEFORE I go, for once.

This supposedly uneventful summer seems to be full of travels!

"You look like Career Doll Barbie!" "Oh sweet heavens, I do."

Today at breakfast we discussed beta testing, submarines, the mail system and the Musad. And then we ended up with watching a video of a dancing parrot. I love my family. :D

The end-of-year has officially come for (most) of our activities. Brownies and Guides ended with a camp on the weekend, and Dance ended with The Show over the past five days. (If I could make that sparkly, I would. It's Just. That. Big. They sell out the Arts And Culture Centre for three days. Ahem.) Now Cadets, which the Walrus is involved in, ends with a dance on Friday, which the Walrus may or may not attend. The jury is still out.

I was in dance class for four and a half years, and involved in the show for five, but I'd never actually been in the audience on a performance night. This year I was, and I was very proud. *proud smile* Fraulein and Slonner were in a total of six dances, (the best ones.) I've now been inspired to get back into dance, if I can scare up the cash and transportation. The show its self was epic, of course. The theme was Variations: Deja Vu, and they did repeats of the best dances over the last 11 years. That sounds rather feeble, but then you realize these were all excellent dances in the first place, in addition to the fact that much of the audience was looking forward to seeing their old favorite dances again. It was very good. Too bad you missed it. *shakes head*

My sister just walked into my room and shaved green glitter onto my head. This should probably disconcert me more than it does. My response? Let's watch trailers on itunes! Something is wrong with me.

Anyhow! Let's talk about camp! This was the first Camp I've gone to as a leader, and it was slightly different from the other side. For one thing, sleep seemed so much more important? Some how, when you're a camper it seems fun to avoid sleep. When you're a leader you're more trying to avoid falling asleep on the lunch table. Also, limp french fries are less thrilling than actual salad with croutons and everything. This is a mysterious transformation, I wonder what could cause it? :D

At breakfast the first day I was clutching a mug of weak, burnt coffee like the ambrosia it was, and one of the Brownies inquired as to whether she could have some coffee. Given that this eight-year-old girl never seems to suffer from a lack of energy, my answer was decidedly in the negative. "Why?" was the predicable response. "Because I'm an adult," I responded- as predictably. The little Brownie, who by then had acquired a posse of interested followers, proceeded to inform me that I was not an adult. Cue blinking from Snazel. Oh, wait, this happens some times, they think because I am not a teacher or someone's mom, I must still be in high school. "No, I am an adult, I'm 20," I reply and drink more coffee. This isn't good enough, according to the children. I'm not an adult because I don't have a boyfriend. This is- not an objection I've had to deal with before. I throw out something about not having to have a boyfriend to be an adult. Brown Owl doesn't have a boyfriend, and she's an adult! Shaking of heads from the Brownies. Brown Owl is a teacher, therefore my argument is invalid. Ulp. Furthermore! They all have boyfriends, why don't I? Wait, the seven, six and eight year-olds all have boyfriends? Yep, even the kindergartners have boyfriends. Cue disapproving looks from the Brownies. This is clearly an epic fail on my part. But I am not defeated! I go on the attack! My next question; do their boyfriends buy them things? No? Well, they aren't much of boyfriends, are they now? The Brownies giggle madly about this, and I escape to get more coffee. Just another morning conversation with small girls!

The Camp was in a really lovely place, though. I should go back with a camera and less Brownies to control (which is approximately on the same level as herding cats) and take pictures. And I had a good time, though I wasn't sad to go come and collapse into an unconcious heap.

"Though he is not far from every one of us, for in him we live, and move, and have our being."

Yesterday a lady and her little boy came into the bank, and came to my wicket. The little boy had big brown eyes, close cropped hair, and a big grin. And he was on the skinny side, for a boy of about three. I nearly called him Gid three times in the five minutes he was sitting on my counter looking at everything. Thankfully his voice was very cutesy, which did not help the resemblance to my little brother, otherwise I might have started bawling.

It's been a little over six months since my little brother's death, and I keep finding myself at odd moments just staring at something, saying; "Why? Why? He'd be five, learning how to read- why? None of my college friends ever even got to meet him. Why? I just don't understand. It doesn't make sense! He's supposed to be charming every woman of every age with his big long-lashed eyes and beautiful grin. It doesn't make sense." 

I miss him a lot. And I look forward to seeing him again, whenever God sees fit to take me home. Silly boy had to jump the line ahead of his big sister.

Anyways.

I've also been seeing a lot of information about George Tiller on the news. If you haven't heard, he is an abortion doctor who was recently murdered. Specifically, the clinics which he owned and made his living off of performed late-term, or partial-birth, abortions, which is "the termination of a viable fetus." I have not looked into it, but I doubt that Dr. Tiller or his family, including his two physician daughters, were hard off for money. Given that he was contributing campaign money to the eventual Health Secretary, I have a great deal of doubt in that direction.

And I am finding it very hard not to simply decide that justice has been served with his "murder."

This man has reported the termination of over 2600 viable fetuses since 1998. To rephrase, he has supported himself and his family on the profits of making sure that more two thousand and six hundred human beings that were capable of surviving outside of the womb were unable to survive. So roughly one every regular business day.

This makes me very angry.

However, keeping very firmly in my mind the verse which says "Vengeance is mine, sayth the LORD, I will repay," I will concede that it is wrong to take justice into my own hands. I should not go out and kill abortion providers, and that goes for all of you too. Another "why?" moment.

And here's the kicker. Dr. Tiller was shot in church, where he was serving as an Usher. His wife sung in the choir. Possibly still sings, though I don't know and don't particularly care. He professed to be a Christian. He had to believe he was doing the right thing, I can't see someone living through continual death threats and hate mail for years for something he thought was wrong, or simply because there was good money in it.

So am I going to meet Dr. Tiller and Gid both, when I go home? My little brother who loved Cars and the man who is survived by his wife, four children and ten grandchildren? And will he meet 2600 little souls he sent to meet their maker? I just don't know. It's too much for me to understand, to get my head around. This is why I am not judge, jury and executioner, I suppose. Justice, Death and Life are just too much for me. But I do believe there is someone who can comprehend, someone both merciful and just, and someone who will has forgiven my murderous leanings, my pride and my self-righteousness. Among many other things.

Lord I believe, forgive thou mine unbelief.

How To Make An Evening Magical

Step One:
When getting up to assist in a professional (HA!!) performance of Fred The Moose, (AKA Friendly Moose, AKA Moose in Bed, AKA Moose With Juice, AKA Moose Who Drinks Juice, AKA That Moose Song) by fifteen small girls, be hoarsely informed by the song leader that she can't lead it, can you?

Step Two:
Remember to inhale. Also, exhaling helps.

Step Three:
Put out of your mind the fact that there are a hundred and fifty people sitting down behind you, watching you.

Step Four:
Answer "Yes I can lead it."

Step Five:
When asked if you know all the words, answer "By the Grace of God."

Step Six:
Sing loudly, and pray without ceasing. When you find you're singing the verses in the wrong order, sing louder, and with more confidence. Ignore the fact that your voice wavers.

Step Seven:
Sit down and allow your heart rate to decelerate to the point that you can hear other people again. Drink Coffee.

Step Eight:
Go home and watch Def Leppard on the telly.