Those Rainy Days

stay-at-homemomwhoknew.blogspot.com

I love days like today. I just got home from my ceramics class (i'll write more about that later) and the rain is pouring down like cats and dogs. I keep looking out my window, staring at the grey sky and hazy light. I'm not sure why I love rain so much. Maybe I'm in love with the sound of it?

Anyhow, when I opened the door to my house, I immediately ran up to my room, got under some soft blankets and curled up with my laptop. Yes, I have things to do-- like read my biology summer reading assignment and such. But for right now, I'm content just laying here, watching a sleepy-day movie, and feeling snug as a bug.

I'm taking this time to relax from a wonderful, yet hectic life.
Today couldn't be better
-loni

July Book Reviews

King Peggy: An American Secretary, Her Royal Destiny, and the Inspiring Story of How She Changed an African Village

By Peggielene Bartels and Eleanor Herman

The title literally says it all. This book was required summer reading for my university's honor's college and once I got into the thick of the narrative, I felt entranced. It was an interesting story about a woman who lived with one foot in America and the other in Africa. It starts when Peggy receives a phone call in the middle of the night, telling her that the ancestors have chosen her to become king of an small Ghanaian fishing village called Otuam.  Although the majority of the story was dedicated to Peggy's struggle with corrupt officials, I loved the pages describing the beautiful Ghanaian traditions. I also thought the writers did an incredible job of conveying Peggy's inner struggles, just by giving the readers a glance into her crumbling Washington DC apartment. Even though the book "info dumps" a lot of African history when possible, it taught me a great deal about a culture different than my own. I highly recommend this one. 

Gardens of the Moon

By Stephen Erikson

I have to admit, it took me a really long time to get through this one. In fact, I reread many chapters just to make sure I had gathered the massive information that the author was throwing at me at any one time. But despite how much time I spent on it, I have to say that this books is captivating. The author weaves many characters and story lines into a intriguing story that ties itself together at the end. Erickson leaves trails of clues in every page, starting with the very beginning. I should probably clarify that I am very new to the fantasy genre. The only other fantasy series I've read in the past is Game of Thrones. So as a novice, here is my two sense: read some other fantasy before getting to Gardens of the Moon. It is very intelligent, moves at a fast pace, and at the end -- becomes a page-turner. However, if you don't have anything to compare it to, than the novel wont be as enjoyable. I've already started the second book in the series and can already tell that I wont be disappointed.

Bossy Pants 

By: Tina Fey

After two serious reads, I was glad to read Tina Fey's silly, yet somehow inspiring memoir. There were some really funny moments crafted into the narrative that made me laugh out-loud. One thing I didn't like, however, was that Tina Fey put herself down a lot in the book. I know on some level she was doing it for comic relief and wasn't actually being serious, but it got old very quickly. But despite this, I loved Tina's writing style and her very honest voice. It's fun to finally put a story to the face I see so often on TV. 

Oriented

communitybookstore.tumblr.com

I'm not sure if I mentioned this before, but this fall I'll be packing my bags again and heading off to university. It will be another brand new adventure; one with a clean, blank canvass. 

Yesterday I attended the Honors College Orientation. I got out of the car and joined the masses of other nervous freshman who had labored over their outfits just hours before. I did my best to make friends (I think I was successful there) and even let myself out of the shell I always seem to be hiding in. 

However, throughout the whole day, a single thought kept rolling over and over in my head: Something has changed. 

I've always thought of myself as a little-bit behind. When other kids my age went to parties, I preferred to stay home and chat with my Mom.When my friends went shopping for cute clothes at all the trendy places, I found myself still wearing the same old outfits I had always worn. Even while in Israel, I was reluctant to go to bars (which is perfectly legal there) with all my new friends. 

It wasn't that I disagreed with going to parties, buying cute clothes or having a casual drink at the bar, it was just that all of those things were beyond my comfort zone-- and I needed the extra push. 

While at orientation, I felt like I was seeing two movies simultaneously in my head. The first movie was dedicated to the person I was this time last year. I watched her interact with others and eat her lunch and do all the corny activities led by orientation advisers. 

The other screen was the present me, the real life reality show that is my life. 

And to be quite honest: the movies playing on those two screens were 100 percent different. 

The present me had this underlying sense of calm the whole day through. The present me went through that lunch line and didn't care what others thought about the items on her plate. The present me didn't constantly compare herself to everyone in the room. And most importantly-- on orientation that day, the present me didn't over analyze everything she said, did, or didn't do. Instead she just...went with it. 

I thought about this a lot on my way home from the university. Maybe I'm not so behind anymore? 

I actually think that, on the flip side, I'm ahead in a lot of ways now. 

This time last year, I  left the world I've always known, and experienced a life where I constantly had to push myself and struggle with challenges. I was independent in a country, for all intensive purposes, I was a stranger to. That, my friends--- is something I feel I can be proud of. 

In some way, I know that the old me- the person I was before this whole adventure, would have been alright going straight to college. But I can finally see with clarity why taking that year was so important; why it added to my life in so many ways.

I no longer feel like I'm the only one who just "doesn't get it"

The truth is...there is nothing to get! If you have confidence and respect for your self, than everything will fall into place. I truly believe this. 

- Loni

What Do I Want?

picture: www.loosetealeaf.com

My mom said something today that really resonated with me. We were drinking sweet peach tea and eating Life Cereal from the box. 

"Loni," she said. "Stop worrying so much about the future. You may think you know what you want in life...but you really don't. Just live for today."

Today is Monday. 

It rained all day long and the clouds turned grey and gloomy. 

What do I want today? 

What do I want right now?

What I want right now, is...

To wear a jean jacket and look good in it.

To be happy when I wake in the morning

To find someone special who makes me feel excited about people and things.

To love myself...

To write more

Thanks Mom. You always know what to say. 

-Loni

 

$100 Cookies

picture: www.sweetsugarbelle.com

Baking dessert has never been my thing. Every brownie batch is burned and every cupcake tin I attempt at serving usually comes out lopsided. 

But despite my failings, I decided a few days ago that I wanted to make Ben deliciously perfect sugar cookies, and send them to him via snail-mail. Once I found a recipe online, I peaked around the ingredients in my kitchen, seeing what I already own.... and found, to my surprise, that we actually didn't have anything I needed.

You see, this recipe called for special flour, special sugar, and almond extract-- which is not something people who suck at dessert making usually own. So I naively ran to the store, ready to purchase everything on the list to make flawless cookies. 

The bill was outrageous. 

I don't really want to get into exactly how much money I spent, but let's just say that between the icing, sprinkles, various sweetening products, and flour-- it wasn't pretty.

Although I was a little shaken by my experience at the grocer,  I went home determined to make these the best batch of cookies I've ever attempted (which in comparison isn't even that great, lol). 

I read each line of the recipe twice before doing anything. I measured out everything exactly. I even sat in front of the oven while they were baking, constantly watching for any signs of burns. 

After letting them cool for a few hours, I began frosting them. I made each one different and took a lot of time arranging the sprinkles and making little icing hearts on the surface. 

When I finally sent it out in overnight mail (didn't want them to get stale), I found out that the price of the delivery plus the price of the ingredients set these cookies at a value of over $100. Oh My! I mean come on, who has that kind of money to spend on cookies?

But no matter the price, I was really looking forward to hearing from Ben once he opened the package. 
The next day, Friday, I checked my phone every hour-- the anticipation rising by the minute.  There was nothing at lunch time and still nothing by mid-afternoon. I was getting nervous because both Ben and I are shomer shabbat, meaning that we don't use electricity (like phones) on the Sabbath. I figured that maybe the package got delayed and would be delivered on Saturday. 

I was really upset. I wanted to cookies to arrive on Friday-- that's why I had paid that obscene price at the UPS store. 

But no matter—life would have to go on. Before lighting candles, to signify the beginning of the Sabbath, I called Ben to wish him Shabbat Shalom. 

The conversation went like this: 
Me: Hi. Shabbat Shalom.
Ben. Hey. Shabbat Shalom to you too. By the way-- I got the cookies this morning, thanks. 

WAHM. I don't know why-- but suddenly I just felt crushed. I almost cried when he said that. 

But here's the thing though: I wasn't even upset about the fact he just received $100 cookies and didn't bother to call me up and say thanks. No, that wasn't it at all.

When Ben opened the box and found cookies inside, maybe he thought it was just a nice gesture...something sweet I wanted to send him. But to me it was more than that. My whole day was centered around those cookies-- not because I wanted them to taste good, but because I wanted Ben to feel special, to feel like even though we are so far apart, that we are still as close as we ever were. I don't know why I thought this-- because they are just stupid cookies-- but I wanted them to mean something. 

I guess I got upset when Ben saw them for what they were...just sugar cookies that taste like almonds. Something that in reality, isn't actually a big deal. 

I think that deep inside, I've been very lonely. Sometimes I feel like I miss Ben so much that I can't breathe, and sometimes I feel like maybe there is someone else out there for me; someone who gets excited about things, and loves to talk, and wants to live not in some random part of the country, but in a place filled with family and childhood friends. 

This constant confusion of how I feel and what I want to do about it, makes me really sad sometimes. God gave me Ben, such a wonderful gift. So why do I feel like although I love him so much, I just need and want someone else? 

I know that this whole fiasco with the cookies is mostly just in my head. But I don't want to feel this way forever. I need some certainty, and that's not something you can buy, even for $100. 

Well, next time I’ll just make cookies from the mix.
-Loni

Reading Quest

source: casheefoo.deviantart.com

The amount of English books offered in the deserts of Israel is staggeringly low. As you can probably guess, I am an avid reader who is constantly in search of new books to delve into. Obviously this dry spell of stories was a problem for me; a big problem.

My friend Amanda, who lived in my building, found a used copy of Game of Thrones (book one) and gave it to  me when she was finished. I remember when she handed it over, and I was like, no way in hell am I reading this. I think that novel may have sat on my shelf for a good month, taunting me with it's 1000 page long plot line before I actually gave it a chance.

Let me explain something to you. For the longest time, I was convinced that I could not read fantasy novels. Yes, I read Harry Potter and Charlie Bone and other magical children's stories, but once I reached the age where I found the majority of my reading list in the adult section, the fantasy genre grew neglected.

In fact, I realize now that I was nothing but a common book racist. I wouldn't read fantasy, science fiction, steam punk or anything else I considered "unworthy." The stories I loved most were either classics, historical fiction or children's books.

These three categories of literature are great, don't get me wrong, but...oh, how naive I was!

When I finally did pick up Game of Thrones out of desperation, I was pulled into the story in an instant. It was full of mystery and blood and intrigue-- I was majorly hooked. It blew my mind how unfairly I had judged this genre. In actuality, the novel was both expertly plotted and well written.

I finished the first book in a little over a week and was hungering for the second book, but unfortunately could not find it anywhere. It was absolute torture. I finally decided to buy myself a Hanukkah present and purchased a Kindle Paperwhite online, using a Christmas coupon I found on amazon.com.

When it finally made its way to Israel (thank you Mom and Dad for helping me out there) I immediately downloaded the second book and submerged myself into its depths. Just on a side note, I actually thought reading on the kindle was easier on the eyes because the print wasn't so small. But anyhow, this went on for another three books until I finished the series.

So what did I learn from this experience?
1. Judging books before reading them is thoroughly insane
2. It's important to try something new every once in a while
3. Fantasy books rock!
4. I owe Amazon my sanity

Just so you know, when I got home my friend Evan, who is a major fantasy book expert, told me that Game of Thrones isn't actually that good compared to other fantasy novels. WHAT? 
Now I'm reading the Malazan Book of the Fallen series. He was right.... it reaches a new level of awesome.

Thanks for reading,
Loni

Stories

source: www.holdingwomanspace.com

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before, but I love writing stories. Now that I think about it, every time I go back through my drawers and read the stuff I've written, I find that I have a tendency to write the same story and over again: my own, personal narrative.

Last summer I finished my very first novel. I sat down at my computer everyday and wrote until the sky grew dark and the stars came out. The process was an overwhelming roller-coaster of highs and lows, frustrations and triumphs and sometimes a waterfall  few drops of tears.

The story itself was rooted very much in my own life. The narrators, a daughter and a granddaughter, told a  a separate story, woven together through repeating themes and questions. Reading back on what I wrote, I realize that this first novel was an attempt to understand my roots and come to terms with the family and lifestyle in which I've been raised.

Like I said before, it was completely, 100% me wrapped up in 338 pages.

My Dad always says that crafting an art has layers. First, no matter what the medium is (music, painting, dance etc...) you have to build upon your own experience. He believes that looking inward is the starting point to any creative development.

The next layer of advancement begins when you  take inward pieces of yourself and share them in a way that applies to the broader world. His example is this: let's say you've struggled with anxiety everyday of your life. If you can write a piece of music or draw a picture about anxiety that makes other people think about the struggles they have in their own life, than you've succeeded.

Ideally, I would like to move on to this level of writing. I want to write a story that is not literally my life, but contains a theme or idea from my experiences that I want to explore.

It is this aim that fuels my next novel project. The story is for children this time, so the characters, setting and plot are more whimsical and exciting. It's a story about perfectionism-- something that I've struggled with since my early teenage years.

I'm a little nervous about moving beyond the realm of just...me. But I think it's the push I need to continue my writing progress.

Wish me luck
-Loni

Unpacking

source: everycollegegirl.com

I have a secret: I still haven’t unpacked. A whole year’s worth of stuff still sits in my room, invading practically the whole floor and making the neat freak inside of me scream at the top of her lungs. I don’t even like to spend much time in my room anymore , because just looking at the mounds of laundry, cleaning supplies, and little Israeli souvenirs, just stresses the hell out of me.

I've been doing a lot of things to avoid the inevitable unpacking adventure. I watch The West Wing; I search the internet for random crafty projects I probably will never end up doing. Sometimes I even clean the kitchen (yes, I know I've hit a personal low here).

Just the other day, instead of folding all the free T-shirts I've collected over the year, I made French toast out of my leftover challah. I think it came out rather well, don’t you think?



I would say that even writing this blog post, right now, is another attempt to avoid the ugly business of unpacking. So now the truth must come out. Why do I spend so much time trying to not unpack?

After spending some time thinking about it, I have come up with a possible answer to this question. Maybe I don’t want to unpack because I don’t want my year in Israel to officially come to an end? I feel like once you unpack and let your life look and feel just as it used to—the adventure is done; its over.

My year in Israel was the best year I've had in my 18 years of personhood. I really found myself there. When I stepped off the plane at Newark International Airport, dreading the reunion with my old life, I was taking steps as a different person.  Spending a year away from anything remotely familiar can really change a person.

The strangest part is that I find I don’t fit into my own life. This is the life that the old Loni (pre-Israel) built; and coming home to it feels so weird.

I guess eventually, I will have to unpack. I’ll fold my clothes and put them away in my now empty drawers. However until it is absolutely, irrevocably necessary, I’m perfectly happy to procrastinate.

So…who here likes to play internet hearts? – Loni

Long Distance

source: skinnymom.com

Ben has big glasses and hair the color of pumpernickel. The first time we spoke was outside, beneath the hot Jerusalem sun. He offered me a plump dried strawberry and I accepted.

We've been dating for about eight months now, Ben and I. He is kind and gentle, always texting me and sending silly pictures.I had a hard time saying goodbye at the airport. I remember wrapping my arms around him at the customs gate, and crying because I didn't want to ever let go.

Last night I watched an episode of The West Wing, Ben's favorite TV show. It's just the sort of program he would like-- filled with politics and big worded conversations. It's basically about USA President Bartlett (not actually a real president) and his senior staff. Throughout the whole episode, I thought of Ben.

It's hard for me to accept that our relationship has changed drastically since our return to the states. We went from seeing each other every day (movie nights, and cooking class and our occasional nap on the couch) to seeing each other...never.

Ben lives far away. I wont pinpoint where exactly, but let's just say that we're aren't even in the same time zone. Our days used to be identical- and now the 12 hours we spend before going back to sleep look nothing alike.

Even our conversations on the phone don't feel like our old conversations back in Israel. How do you tell a small piece of technology that you miss him to the point of breathlessness? How do you tell him that sometimes you cry yourself to sleep because you remember what it felt like to have him dreaming beside you, two peas in a pod.
The easy answer is this: you can't.  I find it hard to communicate anything that I'm feeling to him anymore. It's like the two of us aren't even in the same world.

The West Wing, I've found, is actually an incredible show with some really poignant messages. One of the more obvious ones is that sometimes its hard to tell the truth. In President Bartlett's case, many factors complicate the task of being honest about what's in the best interest for American citizens. Some examples include, interest groups, the congress, or large politician egos.

And for me, I've found that simply not being with Ben in person has complicated matters. I've spent a lot of time thinking about this and decided that I really need to take our relationship just one day at a time. Until I'm able to visit him, I'll have to trust that we meet everyone in our lives for a purpose and that God will eventually find a way to communicate that purpose to us.

Hopefully everything will turn out alright.
- Loni

Making Challah

original picture of my freshly baked challot

Every Friday, my mom and I make a challah. Sometimes we swirl in some raisins. Other times we sprinkle the crust with sesame seeds. In case you have no idea what I'm talking about, challah is a braided egg bread that Jewish people eat on the Sabbath (Shabbat).

In all Jewish traditions, there is a set order of rituals. On Friday Night, first we light the candles, then bless the children, bless the wine, wash hands and lastly, bless the challot (plural challah).

 It's an old Jewish tradition to cover the challot once they are placed on the table so they wont be embarrassed or shamed by their status as "last blessed item."
 I know what you're thinking: it's probably along the lines of what the...?

Realistically speaking, I know that challah can't actually get embarrassed.  I mean it's a piece of bread for darns sake.However I think whoever came up with this slightly silly tradition had it right: Sometimes others can do things before you can...and even though we hate to admit it, that can be extremely embarrassing or shameful.

When I was in third grade, I was an atrocious reader. I loved stories and books themselves, but I couldn't actually read on grade-level. My parents took pity on me and spent many hours at my bedside reading library books out loud. I found that I was entranced by the characters and even the rhythm of the words themselves.

However, despite how much I loved stories, it seemed as though every time I practiced reading, the letters would get all jumbled up and flipped around in my head.
At school I was constantly reminded that my inability to read was not the norm. All around me other kids were reading chapter books under their desks, while I was still struggling to finish the books in the "easy readers" section.

I know that I was only in the third grade, but lets be honest here: I was embarrassed. 
All the other students could read before me...and in my little eight year old heart, the shame was unbearable.

One day our teacher, Mrs. Wallberg, gave us a book report project. She had this big basket of books and called us up one by one to pick out which one we wanted to read. When it was my turn, I took a deep breath and chose a historical fiction story, complete with tiny print and CHAPTERS (the best thing ever to a third grader).

Mrs. Walberg smiled politely at me and then asked, "Loni, are you sure this is the book you want to read?"
I looked at her, my cheeks blushing. "Yes," I said, trying to appear confident.

Any other teacher would have probably forced me to choose another book. But Ms. Wallberg wasn't like that. Instead she nodded and called up the next student to her desk.

For weeks, I struggled through that book. I sat down on the couch and read at my unbelievable slow pace until I got pins and needles in my butt. However, as the story progressed, so did my reading pace and ability. With each passing day I could feel my progress. By the time I reached the end, I would say that my reading level was on par with all the other kids in my third grade class.

I was very proud of myself (and I have a feeling Mrs. Wallberg was too).

Anyhow, I'm saying this because in a way, I know how the challah feels as it sits blessing-less, watching as the wine soaks up all the fancy Hebrew words. But I also know that if the challah is patient and waits its turn,  eventually we will bless her golden brown crust as well. And when that happens, the wait will be way worth it-- challah is absolutely delicious (in fact in my opinion, it's the best part of the meal).

So Challah, hang in there. It's all going to be ok in the end.
-Loni

Hello, it's nice to meet you

Throughout my whole life, I've kept a journal. At the foot of my bed sits a carved, wooden box, jam-packed with notebooks full of thoughts,stories, hopes and dreams. Recording how I feel is something that comes easy to me. But sharing those feelings, is (and always will be) an act I find extremely difficult. It’s not that I open up my journal every night and scribble horrible diatribes about people I seriously dislike. No, that’s not it at all. In fact, I try very hard not to do this. It’s just that I've always felt that journaling is something you keep private—something sacred.

I've just returned from a journey to a foreign country, where I learnt a valuable lesson: many people undergo the same struggles as myself.  There were nights where friends completely opened up to me, and I realized that everyone has troubles, even those with lives that appear nothing less than perfect. I ran out of pages in my journal on the plane ride home and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe I wasn't meant to keep recording my thoughts on paper. Maybe the safe place I've always indulged in (the 99 cent composition notebook bought at Target) wasn't what I needed anymore?

Blogging, I've come to realize, is like writing in a communal diary. It’s like putting your small thoughts out into the world, and connecting with those who want to hear your story.  I've decided to set my journal down for a moment, and begin a new writing adventure. Hopefully you like it, whoever you are.

Before I say anything else, I would like to give a few words of introduction.

My name is Lani. I am 18 years old and I live in a little town where there are winding footpaths and wooden bridges.  After graduating high school, I took a year off to really think about the important things: what I want to be when I grow up and the right way to treat other people. My parents encouraged me to do this self-discovery in Israel, where I could study and volunteer with other kids my age. I loved every moment of my time abroad. Each day taught me something new. It was in the Holy Land that I met my best friends, a boy I loved, and some great role models who I know have shaped my future. I will admit that there were some people I absolutely detested: but, as my mother always says over her morning cup of tea, “You can’t love everyone.”

Here are some other random facts about me:

My favorite time of day is early morning, when the sky is dull blue and the world is quiet.

I love vanilla tea and chewy chocolate chip cookies.

I’m Jewish and I’ve grown to love the Friday night prayers and holiday food filled with symbolism.

My favorite time of year is autumn because I love starting afresh.

 Books are my guilty pleasure and writing is my constant

I’m taking a risk here, writing in this blog. If anyone I know in real life should find it, I would probably crawl under a rock and never climb out. But regardless, I think it’s worth it.

Anyhow, if you have any questions or comments you would like to send me, my email address is lonilovesbooks@gmail.com

 Obviously I don’t bite. 

Alrighty then, have a great day.

Loni