Some Days...

Hannah: "I don't care what people think about me."
Conscious: "Yes you do."
Hannah: "No I don't."
Conscious: "Yes---you do."
Hannah: "... oh, bah-humbug."

To Bridget

Bridget

This morning at 6:00 a.m. I sat down at the table with my calculator, book, and pencil, trying to clear my brain of morning grogginess and focus on numbers.  Cursed math...

"See ya lateeer, Hannah!" 

"Bye, guys."  And Kirsten and Kayli were out the door, headed to school.  I turned my attention back to my math.  On practice problem one-billion-and-one, Dad came inside from the front door, where the dog house is.

"Bridget died," he said.  I put down my pencil.

"She looks like she went in her sleep..."

Dumb-founded, I managed, "But---what?  But I thought she was getting better?  She was acting so much better...!"

Dad shook his head.  Sitting in her chair by the fire, mom was quiet.  We were all quiet; just sitting. 

Bridget had been sick the past few days.  We gave her some penicillin, and it really seemed to help.  She started eating again; walking around in the grass; wagging her tail.  I went for a run and at the end of it, when I collapsed in the yard, she ran up and tackled me like she always does.

I left the house for my math test this morning and by the bottom of the drive way, tears rolled down my cheeks.  I don't care how old I am, I couldn't help it.  She's gone now---good 'ole Bridget.  I remembered her tripping over her feet as a puppy, chewing up flip-flops and garden hoses, stealing stuffed animals from our bedrooms, digging holes all the way to China in the front yard.  But you loved her, still---everybody did.  To some people it may be far-fetched to describe a dog as having emotion, but Bridget was always dog-gone happy.  Truly she was the happiest, friendliest, tail-wagging-est dog there ever was; a big, red-coated, over-sized teddy bear.  I'd have a bad day at school, finally get home from soccer practice, slump down on the floor, lean my back against the living room couch; and in two seconds, there's Bridget---paw on my lap, head on my shoulder.  This Summer when Kirsten, Jordan and I slept out in the yard under the stars, Bridget was there, too; stealing our pillows and hogging our sleeping bags.  Yesterday, when I went outside and sat on the front door step, breathing in the Fall air and thinking, Bridget lay down at my feet and kept me company.  Yesterday...

God, I'm nobody to tell You what to do, but---dogs and heaven---I think they go together.  There are good dogs and bad dogs, don't you think?  Can the good dogs who were faithful to their families, who loved little girls when they were small, and big girls when they were lonely---can they go to heaven? 

To Bridget, for being a good dog in mine and my sister's lives: thank you.  I hope I'll remember to look around myself at the family I'm stuck with, the boy I'm in love with, and be as dog-gone happy as you always were.

Photos by Kayli Hankins

Tuesday Makes Monday Better

Every Tuesday, I have no class.  Mwhahahahaaa... it's such a wonderful thing!  Mondays are significantly less bad when you heave on your backpack that weighs one-hundred pounds (approximately), put your head down in stubborn determination, and dutifully trudge on through it; knowing that, tomorrow, you won't have to trudge anywhere you don't want to.



Today, I feel like this leaf.
Interpret at will.

The Problem With Life

is that---if you're me and you're trying to be practical---you have to do something you don't like in order to be successful, rather than doing something you do like because you already find success in it.  

For instance:

I like writing.  I like singing.  I like drawing and sketching and taking pictures.  Realistically, can I make a descent career out of any of those things?  No---not in a practical sense.  Even though every English and Writing teacher I've ever had has ordered me to become a journalism major, every band I've sang with has told me to do something with my singing, every Art teacher I've been under (well, the only Art teacher I've been under) has told me to go into photography.  I suppose I could do any one of those things if I really wanted to (I'm young!  I can do anything I want to, right?) but I sure as heck wouldn't make a living for myself.  (Side note, just to clarify: I like writing, singing, drawing, and photography, but really I am not brilliant at any of them.  I just like them.  People are too kind.)

Instance number two:

I like animals.  I always have.  But unless I want to go to veterinarian school for 8+ years (which I do not; I would never in my right mind subject myself to 8+ years of school.  8+ years seems like half of a lifetime---almost), than a career in the field of animals is basically out of the question.  I could, instead, become a veterinarian technologist in 4 years, get hired at a large city vet clinic, and make a maximum of $15.00 an hour.  An option that is, yes, but not a very appealing one.  First, because of two words: "big city", and second, because of the maximum number of $15.00 an hour---which is not worth 4 years of schooling, and would not pay for 4 years of schooling.

Solution: Get a job somewhere within the health field---ultra-sound, nursing, x-ray technician, etc.---and be guaranteed a job anywhere, at any time.  Plus good pay.

Problem with solution: I hate math and science.  (Eh... hate is a strong word.  I strongly dislike math, and though I find science very interesting, I am not inclined towards it.  Not anywhere like I am inclined towards Writing and English---and animals.)

How on earth can a girl know what to do when everything she wants to do, she can't do?  At least, not practically speaking.

I practically hate practicality.

C.S. Lewis is a Smart Guy

"It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad."

C.S. Lewis