I went to my Grandma’s funeral/memorial today. (Yeah, I know. What a way to start a post, right??) I didn’t know what to expect at the ceremony; whether it’d be boredom from a depressing monologue or discomfort from those mourning.

    Personally, I didn’t sense the feeling of sadness until the service began. But as speaker after speaker reminisced and smiled occasionally as the memories of my Dad’s mom returned, the small room in which we sat – though it had a massive window overlooking a beautiful green hill – faded to gray. Outside the window, the fog crept in followed by a certain emptiness in the air as family and friends, endeavoring to keep their composure, choked back the flow of tears. Several men cleared their throats and the sound of sniffles was heard from behind us.

    I didn’t know my Grandma very well. We would go to her house every year for Christmas but it wasn’t sufficient for a real friendship. I simply knew a couple facts about what her favorite things were (humming birds and teapots on the top of this list). But as I listened to people talk, I heard things about my Grandmother that I never knew of. I learned so many facts about her from this one-day than what I knew from fifteen years on earth!
    A couple of the people that spoke said that my Grandma meant a lot in their life; that she was a comfort to them and was there when they needed her.
     The most hurtful word in that (previous) sentence is the word “was”. “Was” is the word that sunk deepest into the hearts of the audience present at the funeral; the word that made their voices crack and quiver with sadness and grief. Because we know that people “are”, and people “will be”, but a person who “was” has finished their journey in this life and stepped through the exit/entrance door into an eternity of “always is”.

Grown Up

    What’s so great about growing up?? The second you hit high school EVERYTHING is about growing up. Whether it’s career, marriage, or education, it’s all based on growing up.

    Now, for you poor confused souls out there, I don’t mean “growing up” as in suddenly sprouting to be 6 feet tall OR being 18 or older. I mean it as in mentally. (Yes, I used the word “mentally”. Why does that word scare people?? Mentally. — That third “mentally” was just to bug you. I’ll come back to the subject now.)

    First, what does it mean to grow up?? Well, we know that it DOESN’T mean being freakishly tall (I’m not trying to insult any of you people towering over us shorties so don’t get defensive just yet) or that you’ve left the teen years behind. So, we can scratch that from the list of possibilities. What’s left?? The only answer I can think of is wisdom and experience. That’s it! THAT’s the reason why everyone is in such a hurry to grow up?! They want to learn from their mistakes and have good judgment??

    As kids, we (well, some of us) can’t seem to wait to grow up. So we make up ways to be a tad older. For girls, it’s wearing make-up, bras, having cell phones, and dating the “cutest” guy in school. For guys, it’s wearing boxers, using hair gel, saying the latest slang words, and dating the “hottest” girl. Did you notice a cross in the paths?? (Hint: it’s not the underwear)
    Dating seems to be the number one way for a kid to “feel” like an adult. But it really is just a way for a girl to be (what she thinks) “heartbroken” and a boy to feel “used” before they’re even teens! What’s the result in this?? Kids not being kids. What’s the fun in becoming a “grown up” so quickly?? There is none, people! What happened to squirt gun fights, silly string, and mud??
    Here are my final words on kids trying to be adults: don’t try to grow up before you have to, guys. (When I say “guys”, I mean boys and girls) You’ll have PLENTY of time to grow up in life but you only have so long to be a kid until it starts to creep people out. Believe me, you don’t want to be fifty when you suddenly realize you want to make a magical fiery land in your front yard or use the doghouse as a “Bat mobile” so you can catch the bad guys. Talking to yourself, running around the yard, and kicking the dog out of his home probably won’t sit well with some of your neighbors.


    Even if I only talk about the “young’uns”, there are the two extremes: kid’s wanting to be adults and adults wanting to be kids. Be content with who you are now, not with who you were or who you are going to be. A child having the one dream of being an adult worries people. And an adult wanting to be a child is creepy to some extents.


     We have recently bought ourselves a brand-new RV. Yep, you heard me. “RV”!! No “motor home” for us. No siree. From now on, we will point and guffaw (yes that’s a word) at those poor souls who have to live in a “motor home”, in those class “C”s. Psh, suckers.

     So we have now graduated to a moto–*clears throat* excuse me, RV. Now what?? After several comings and goings from the RV dealer for various problems, (they forgot to clean the carpet, leak in the roof, refrigerator malfunctions..etc.) it’s now time to take this baby out for a trip! We finally decide when and where to go and the next thing we know: we’re off to the races!!

    –DAY #1: We arrive, walk the dogs (one of which had already relieved itself in the RV), then go to “El pollo loco” for a “delicioso” and spicy lunch. After eating and running other quick errands, we’re back and stare at each other until one of us figures out what to do.
    Finally, someone decides we should go for a bike ride in the crisp winter air. =-) BUT… we have a minor set back: Dad locked all the bikes together and forgot the key at home.
    “How ’bout a walk??”
    Luckily, I find my bike is the only one not tied with the rest and ride next to the walking crowd. After fooling around at a park with little kids as our audience, and whirling my little brother around to a tipsy with a spinning tire swing, we begin heading back to our fancy “recreational vehicle”.
    Loving the wind, I speed up telling everyone I’ll meet them there. I ride to our spot to find that our RV is dripping, no, POURING water EVERYWHERE. Gawping at the scene for a second, I straggle back on the bike to tell my family the news.
    The rest of the day consisted of everyone drying out the kitchen and out-door cubbies using bathroom towels and a dog bowl until our hands were red and numb. I also managed to sink the new shoes I got for Christmas in the slippery mud. =-)

(But I dunked them in a puddle so it’s all good)

    –DAY #2: The carpet has just about finished drying in our new home on wheels but because of the dew and cold, mine and my older brothers shoes are still wet (we had left them outside to supposedly dry). Happily, resourceful me puts on her extra (DRY) converse and is ready to face the day.
     Today, we pile in the van to drive over to the new movie theater and watch the Chipmunk’s “squeakwel”. Only MY family will choose to go to the theater while camping. (On a personal note: I didn’t think the movie was that great. My family disagrees)
    After watching the movie, Dad and I drop off the crew at our RV and drive the thirty minutes back home to pick up a couple things (bike chain key, breadcrumbs..) and feed the animals. (Okay, I confess. Dad fed the animals. I just messed around playing the piano and clarinet. It was helpful…ish)
    Now that we had the bikes unlocked, we went riding in the freezing cold. I guess I really shouldn’t be complaining considering my older brother was in shorts. But that was HIS choice. I didn’t choose to always be cold. We then thawed out back at the RV while watching “One Night With The King” and eating junk food until it was time for bed.

    –DAY #3: Kick starting the day, we wake up to the sounds of excited dogs running (and sliding) across the floor. In their own doggy language, they must’ve found out that today is the day we head home (or maybe they knew that it was the last day of the year?? Either way they knew SOMETHING).
    After breakfast, the fam. heads out for one last bike ride before departure.
    Everyone then chips in as we slide, yank, and snap all our belongings back in place for the drive home. (We also found out that a pipe was blocked…but Dad told us that as long as we didn’t use the bathroom he can fix it when we get to the house)

    So there you have it! We have officially graduated! And from this point forth, we’re ridding in style. B-)



    Everyone knows that if you go to a baby shower and see blue that’s a national color for “boy” and pink means “girl”, right? In other words, we’re forcing the poor kid into a color before it has even arrived! (How mean!) Because of this view on color, you hardly ever see a little girl with blue bootees or a boy with pink. But is a girl wearing blue socks wrong?? Or boys wearing pink a crime?? Will the “SCAT team” (Special Colors And Tactics) suddenly bust through the window on ropes and point a gun at you?? No. Then why don’t we do it?? The only reason I could come up with is that not all bald babies are boys and the ones with hair girls. (Wearing the color is a help for others. Like a label announcing to the world “My baby is a GIRL!”)

    Before I stray away from my point, I just want to clear up that no, this article/post isn’t about putting blue socks on baby girls. It’s about the debated topic of pink for guys. (Before you people go into “defense” mode read the rest) Now, there are certain exaggerations…yes, wearing super tight (there is such thing as SUPER tight) bright pink jeans with a matching t-shirt is what I would call an exaggeration. (Unless your dream is to be a pink traffic cone) Also, if you have long-ish hair wear pink with caution* (and even though it might be a temptation don’t do pink v-necks!!)

Summarizing the “unacceptable”s and “acceptable”s for the confused:


-Super tight pink pants

-Super tight pink pants WITH a pink shirt

-Pink v-necks. (“Why??” you might ask, just don’t)


-Pink ties

-Shirts with pink stripes (if the shirt makes you dizzy, though, stay away)

-Solid pink polos (as long as it’s not BANG! pink)

There! You have just witnessed a generations long problem solved! (Do you feel lighter??)

* Once at youth group, we were looking for a place to sit. After scanning the crowd, I pointed to some chairs “over there behind those girls”. We plopped down behind them. Just about in the middle of our lesson, I realized that the tallest girl with perfectly flipped thick blonde hair and tight pink shirt was a guy!! (This is when I discovered the confusion so I’m writing this article to clear things up..)


     I love to write. I’m not sure if it’s because of my Dad’s encouragement of telling me how good of a writer I supposedly am or because I’ve kept a journal for the longest time…I just know that I love hearing the tapping sound of my fingers pressing keys on the keyboard, seeing the letters magically (well magically to me since my mechanic skills are zip) appear on screen, and knowing that what I write can never be forgotten since it is being documented at the same time it takes for me to think it up, quite a time saver actually.

     Writing is a lot like a wish or a dream. Whatever you dream could happen CAN in the pages of a book or the scrolling down of a computer mouse. And this dream can never be thrown away or forgotten. It will stay with you forever and always.

     I, like hundreds of others I’m sure, want to be a famous writer. I want what I write to touch the hearts of thousands, millions, all around the world. Hearts of people I don’t even know…people I’ve never even met or seen. I want to write books that bring these men and women, teens and tweens, closer to God. Books that make my readers cry, laugh, and inspire them to go the distance. My only question at this time of my life is how?? How can I set other hearts on fire when my own is blank! Yes, I know what I would love to happen, oh, what great things I could imagine… Autographing my novels in a Barnes-n-noble with thousands of people who know the book backwards and forwards and can quote my work better than I… But if it’s just a cute and popular story; does that really count?? Have I achieved my goal?? I would say I could settle…but I doubt I’d be contently happy. Because there would still be this part of me knowing that I had dreamt of something more.


     I want to thank all you who have taken the time to read what I have written so far in my blog. I don’t know if it’s any good, or worth reading for that matter, but I want to thank you anyway. You are a great encouragement!

The Scary Truth

    It’s about that time of year when the stores are filled with skeletons, goblins, and witches. You know the time has come when you suddenly slam into a dead thing at Walmart. Yes, it’s almost time for *spooky organ music plays* Halloween.

   For most people, it’s evident that saying “Halloween” isn’t Christian because Halloween is the holiday for the dead. Instead, we find that saying “Harvest Festival” separates us from the creepy, devil worshiping acts of other people. But did you know that “Halloween” first meant “Saint’s Day”?? A complete inverse of what most people think today.

   All in all, Halloween is a very touchy subject to speak of. But I am not talking about the pagan holiday. I’m talking about the evening when kids set out with empty 99 cent store bags with a mission to conquer the world and come back with a thousand pieces of candy. The night that has the disgustingly sweet smell of sweets in the air, chatter from hyper children, and the enchanting orange glow of Jack-O-Lanterns.

   But something has come to my attention that I must speak of. People have forgotten the joyous tradition of dressing up! Slowly, every year costumes are dissolving away leaving kids with a handful of candy and a pair of old and smelly blue jeans. They have lost the excitement of being someone that they could only dream of being; they have lost sight that for only one evening of the year they CAN be superman, a fairy, or a knight. Some people throw that great privilege away. Don’t let it be you. I’m Mysterious Rose, and that’s The Scary Truth.

Mannequins and their plot for revenge!! (Read at your own risk)

 *telephone rings. PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE BEEP. Beep!*
     Oh, the dreaded department store, a place where thousands of people of all shapes and sizes come together to share one action in common for two hours. They have all come to… *shudder* shop. Why people find spending hundreds of dollars on two lousy pieces of clothing just to drive home and realize either a) the clothes doesn’t fit, or b) that it’s dry clean only is truly beyond me. And as these optimistic shoppers browse the shelves for something, ANYTHING to spend their money on, little do they know they are constantly being watched.

    Eyes are upon them from the second they enter to the first step out the exit door. Whose? Why, the conceited eyes of the mannequins, of course!…*clears throat* These models with their poise and beauty portray the look that you, the shopper, are evidently sure to succeed after spending half your year’s allowance (or paycheck) on a pair of beat up old jeans, about half a T-shirt, a belt, fedora, and (please don’t forget) shoes. Over the years, these overgrown dolls have been made to look more and more like regular human beings. They are given casual poses, hair, and facial expressions to show joy, pride, or even sorrow.

   The common customer may not think twice about why the mannequins are there in the store to begin with, but have you? If you were to study logic, you would know that mannequins are a form of propaganda called “transfer”. (And since not many people do study logic, I’ll explain) The store (or advertiser) wants you to transfer your feelings about one object to another. In this case, you transfer your feelings about the mannequin to the apparel worn. By now, you’re probably thinking, “I have no feelings toward the mannequin”. But if you have ever purchased an article of clothing because it just so happened to catch your eye on a massive puppet, then you have.

    Mannequins are usually tall, slim, and all together good-looking; are they not? And for some weird reason, we, the people with the ‘moola’, are given this idea that we will look just as good as the dolls do when we wear the same clothes. Then in the dressing room, to our shock and dismay we find that…we don’t. Why is that?! Because it doesn’t matter how hard sculptures try, they can’t make a figure that looks like an attractive human but is still realistic. Because we are made in God’s image and we are ALL different. Not all of us can be THAT physically fit and if we were life would be boring. We might as well choose our own spots at a JCPenny and and strike a pose!

     Yes, those dolls will still be there at Macy’s to point out how much better they look compared to us. But at least now, you will have a different mind-set the next time you spill your Starbucks and drop the latest sale items all over the floor for being freaked out that, that “person” isn’t a person at all! Also, another bonus in the end is we’re not the one’s called the “dummies”. =-)


*whispers* Forget what I just said and hear this!! The mannequins have taken over Kohl’s, are holding me and several others hostage, and they are developing a plan to take over department stores all over the world! Call everybody we gotta sto–*click. Dail tone. Beeeeep*

Why "The Mysterious Rose"?

       Now, a person would think that just by reading my title you can know all there is to know about me (or the blog), right? *shakes head* Sorry to disapoint but my title says absalutely “natha” about who I am or what my blog’s about. (Actually, the only reason I picked it was because I have a small golden vase to the left of my laptop and in it are a metal and wooden flower.) And no, it’s not because I’m that girly…actually, now-a-days friends are still shocked when they see me wear pink.
      Yep, it may always be a mystery…maybe that’s why they call me “The Mysterious Rose” *dramatic music plays*

Welcome [insert your name here] to blogging!

I welcome you (and myself) to the world of blogging! (Now, I’ve never done this before so bare with me…)

Isn’t it amazing how having a blog relates to owning your own little slice of the world?? A section to call your own. Ever thought of that??

A crazy place of reading over people’s shoulder to see what’s happening in their life and what they are up to without having to ask one question. Creepy, right?? What in the world would convince someone to do such a thing??! Well, I can think up a million reasons: peer pressure, wanting to connect with friends, curiosity…but none of these refer to me. No sirree.

Okay, I might admit to curiosity. I would sneak up a creepy staircase just so I can know what’s on the other side *gives one of her friends a look*. And maybe I had a crazy idea that someone will read this and say, “this gal looks like she can go places”. Not for movies, (I mean, don’t get me wrong I love theater, singing, dancing etc.) but for my writing. “A writer needs to go places. Study and meet new people” -Jo March, Little Women [May not be exactly what she says, but close]