If I Were a Book Character...

Have you ever read a book and realized that you were the main character? 

This should not be confused with imagining yourself as the main character.  If that were the case, I would currently be living on the island of Guernsey, married to Brady Stoner – the gravy-eating cowboy – and living next door to Dawsey and Juliet.

What I am talking about is reading a book and having so many similarities with the main character that it is almost ridiculous.  The book might as well have been written about you.  In fact, you double check the back cover to make sure you do not know the author in person.

I recently finished reading Cool Beans by Erynn Mangum, as a recommendation – and gift – from my mom.  And as I read, I got the overwhelming feeling that I was the main character, Maya Davis.

Here are some of the reasons why: 

1. We both love making lists.
2. We both love coffee.  Granted, I can’t drink caffeine, so coffee doesn’t happen all that often anymore.  But I am currently addicted to lemon-flavored Lipton’s Iced Tea, except that I drink it hot.  Hot iced tea.  I am not lost in the irony.
3. We watch and love the same movies and TV shows: Runaway Bride, While You Were Sleeping, Friends, Gilmore Girls.
4. We both love ice cream.  Oreo Blizzard, anyone?
5. We both order the same entrée at Panda Express.  Orange Chicken.  The only way to go.
6. We both, on occasion, eat chocolate for breakfast.  After all, chocolate is a vegetable: it comes from a bean, and beans are, without a doubt, vegetables. 

And on the list goes.

How is this possible?  I am still trying to figure it out.  In some ways, it makes reading easy because I know what to expect from Maya; she would do what I would do.  But it also gives me the heebie-jeebies.

As similarities abound and bewilderment lingers, I am off to read the second book in the series.  Let’s see what Maya has in store for us next…  

Old Guys and Pink Peppermints

...Because I was asked by someone to post a poem.  I am not one for writing poetry, and this one is from my sophomore year of college.  But the subject still holds a special place in my heart.

Old Guys and Pink Peppermints

-To My Guys in The Kings Men of Song-

“Step Into the Water”

“Canaan Land”

“Jesus Paid It All”

“Joy Comes in the Morning”

“Written in Red”

I grew up with songs like these

As I sat in a different church pew

Every Sunday night.

Because you see,

My mom was the pianist

For the King’s Men of Song.

I have listened to these men sing

As my mother played

Since I was a baby.

I was too little to sit alone

So I sat by my great aunt Ev

Who always brought me corn-candies.

I soon grew old enough

To sit up front by my Mom

And listen as those men sang their songs.

I grew up with these men singing,

And of course I was slightly spoiled,

Being a cute little girl in dresses and all.

There was Mr. Andy who always had pink peppermints,

And the man who gave me a ring from McDonalds.

And who could forget the time a guy taught me

To make it appear as though I could put a finger in my ear

And make it come out my mouth.

There were always those special concerts

Such as the ones on Lummi Island

In a little church by the sea,

And the guys all sang “Happy Birthday” to me.

Or that one in Friday Harbor

When my math homework confounded Mr. Don. 

Of course, there are those members

Who will always hold a special place in my heart:

Mr. Brent with his rainbow suspenders

And one of the sweetest smiles you will ever see.

Mr. Hank, the old director

Who hugged me so tight it almost hurt.

Mr. Don who still talks to me about math problems

And has already volunteered to sing at my wedding

Despite the fact that I’m not even engaged.

Mr. Andy whom I haven’t seen in years,

But I will never forget all those pink peppermints.

Then, there is my great uncle Chuck

Who passed away not too long ago.

But his cheerful disposition and warm hugs

Will never be forgotten.

And I can’t forget Mrs. Marcia,

Who obviously isn’t exactly one of the guys,

But her solos are breathtaking,

And I can still see her smiling at me

As she sings away with The King’s Men of Song.

I grew up with all these men,

And their beautiful songs that I will always hold dear.

Every time I hear them sing,

As my Mom plays the piano,

I simply can’t help but smile

Because I love these old guys,

All the memories they bring,

And those pink peppermints.

Living Simply

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived…I want to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life…”

One day in history, Henry David Thoreau left the hustle and bustle of everyday life to live by himself in a small cabin in the woods, situated next to the ever-quiet Walden Pond.  He left to truly experience life and draw as much out of it as possible.  While his unique outlook and way of living may not have been sound in their entirety, he made some very poignant points.  One, in particular.

“Simplify, simplify.”

We live our lives running here and there, never stopping to take a breath.  Our lives – at least mine – are filled with lists of things to do, lists of what’s for dinner, lists of gifts to buy.  Our lives are filled with stuff, both literally and figuratively.  But sometimes, we need to slow, we need to take a breath, we need to focus on the simple.

I greatly admire people who strive to simplify their lives.  I’ve watched and read about people who have joined the Tiny House Movement, and I think to myself how wonderful that would be.  Everything has an exact place, and there simply isn’t room to have many possessions.  There is something idyllic and idealistic about such a small space.  I think to myself, “I want a tiny house!  What fun it would be – an OCD person’s dream to organize.”  And then I realize that it would be unrealistic to have children in such a small space.  And where would my parents sleep when they come to visit?  How do people actually do this?

I have also heard of people who limit the amount of clothes they wear, usually for a particular season.  Capsule Wardrobes, they are called.  Pick a limited number of tops, pants, coats, etc. to mix and match over a set number of months.  If I were still a student, I would find this idea a little more plausible, but trying to teach with only one sweater and five tops simply is not going to happen for me.

Somewhere inside of me, there is a conflict.  I want to live simply, and yet, if you were to look in my closet, you would be astounded.  An old coloring book, my outer space book I made in 2^nd grade when Pluto was still a planet, a 6^th grade book report, my Spanish ABC book, notes from every English class I’ve taken since my freshman year of high school, old cowboy boots, several baby dolls, and on and on and on the list goes.  How can I get rid of such precious memories?

I have decided that to live simply is not a command to get rid of all my childhood treasures, but it is more of a way to view life.  I need to minimize distractions to focus on the elements of life that truly matter: my faith, my family and friends, and for me, my students.  I need to ask myself if I really need that new pair of shoes or if I simply want it – a very difficult task at times, trust me.  I need to de-clutter but still keep some of the memories along the way.  So today, I challenge myself to “simplify, simplify,” and we will see where this journey leads. 

I am Mrs. Vriend

Every September, my classroom fills with students, and suddenly, I am transformed into “Mrs. Vriend.”  I respond more quickly to “Mrs. Vriend” than any other name, simply because I am called that countless times every day:

“Mrs. Vriend, can I go to the bathroom?”

            “Mrs. Vriend, can you come and look at this?”
                        “Mrs. Vriend, what does ‘wanton’ mean?”

                                    “Mrs. Vriend, what time does class get out?”

                                                “Mrs. Vriend, how did you meet your husband?”

                                                            And on and on and on it goes…

I am a teacher.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I will admit that after college, I wasn’t so sure.  Can I really do this?  Do I even enjoy teaching?  Do I want to do homework every night for the rest of my life?

But thankfully, my loving husband convinced me that really, I needed to give this a try.  I applied for a job and received a position, and while the start was rough, it was just what I needed.

My job is by no means easy.  Some days, I wonder why I assigned 35 students essays that are now stacked up and waiting to be graded.  Some days, I wonder if I made any sense and if I at least sounded like I knew what I was talking about.  Some days, I am emotionally exhausted after giving of myself all day long, allowing each student to take the little piece of me they needed to keep going and learn that day.

But every day I get to teach the subject that I love to students that I love.  Every day, I get to travel around in books and teach students that semi-colons are the best punctuation mark ever invented.  Every day, I get to show my students the incredible world of words that God created for us to enjoy.  Every day, I get to see students enjoying learning and growing in their knowledge, individuality, and faith.

So give me the homework, the lesson plans, the essays.  I get to mold young adults into the people God created them to be.  And that is why they call me “Mrs. Vriend.”  

Three Little Words: You've Got Mail

While my love for books is immense, there is also something to be said about the odd movie or two – especially if the movie involves books.  Just like the perfect book, the perfect movie can take a place in your heart and influence your life without ever looking back.

For me, this movie is You’ve Got Mail.  I can’t even count how many times I have cuddled up in my blanket to watch this heartwarming tale.

You’ve Got Mail has influence me in innumerable ways:

• “Don’t you think daisies are the friendliest flower?”  Daisies are my favorite flower, and I have no idea where that love began.  Did Kathleen Kelly actually make this decision for me?
• “I turn on my computer. I wait impatiently as it connects. I go online, and my breath catches in my chest until I hear three little words: You've got mail.”  AOL.  Does it get any better?  My husband often teases me for still using AOL, but how can you get rid of an email address that’s been a part of your life since the 7^th grade?  We’ve had quite the relationship together, and I can’t just abandon it now.  And does my husband’s email actually tell him, “You’ve got mail,” in an oh-so-familiar voice?  I don’t think so. 
• “The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what the hell they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino.”  If I had money coming out of my ears and could afford a five dollar coffee every day, I have no doubt that I would.  One grande decaff vanilla latte, please.
•  And the most wonderful line of the film – “Don't you love New York in the fall? It makes me wanna buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.”  Oh, how I love fall.  I have even been known to send a bouquet or two of pencils.  Newly sharpened, of course. 

I am not the only one who loves this movie; my dad and I spent many evenings watching it while I was growing up.  Being in the same family, we have a very similar sense of humor.

             “A hotdog is singing. You need quiet while a hotdog is singing?”

“And we got a fifty-thousand dollar ticket for construction workers peeing off the roof.”

Classic.  I’m still smiling just thinking about those lines.

Any movie can be your favorite, and it most certainly does not have to be You’ve Got Mail.  But take some time to watch it every once in a while.  Curl up on your couch, eat some popcorn with extra butter, and remember all the times that movie has changed your life for the better.

A Friend

Many a quote has been said about a friend: “A friend is the loving gardener that inspires the soul to blossom,” “Friendship is a blanket that wraps around you on life’s coldest days,” “Friends are a reminder that wishes can come true,” “A friend is someone with whom you can be one-hundred percent yourself.”  And the list goes on and on.

I have one friend in particular who is very special to me.  This friend has been with me through thick and thin, through the good days and the bad, through laughter and tears.  I have had this friend longer than any other.

This friend’s name is Townsend.

He is a cat.

A stuffed animal cat, to be precise.

And he is one of my best friends in the world.

One day when I was 7, my family went on one of our many adventures to Port Townsend.  We strolled through the shops, as we still do to this day.  In one shop, I found a stuffed animal calico cat, and I fell in love.  “Please, can I get it mom and dad?  Please?”

They were more than hesitant.  “You already have so many stuffed animals.”

“But this one is different,” I claimed.  “I will sleep with him every night!  I promise!”

I left the store without the cat. 

Now, I am slightly ashamed of the next part of this story, but the truth must be told.  I was quite upset that I could not get this most precious of stuffed animals, so I proceeded to sulk.  We continued to walk through town, but I would not look at my parents, much less speak to them.  How dare they deprive me like this! 

While it probably shouldn’t have, my sulking and terrible attitude worked.  We returned to the store, and the stuffed animal cat was purchased.  On the way home, I named him Townsend.

We have been best friends ever since, and much to my parents surprise, I kept true to my promise to sleep with Townsend every single night.

We have been through a lot, Townsend and I.  Due to a rather dramatic experience involving a rainy, middle-of-the-night road trip, carsickness, and popcorn thrown out the window, Townsend once endured a trip through the washing machine.  He hasn’t been quite the same ever since.  He has been on many trips to South Dakota and back again, traveling in the Rocket Box above the van.  He has been to Indiana, Iowa, Wyoming, Montana, and California as well.  Quite the world traveler, he is.

Townsend came with me to college and continued to sleep with me every night.  He was there on the night I started dating, and he was there the night I hardly slept a wink after getting engaged.  He was there the night before my wedding.  But sadly, that is where our journey changed.

Townsend and I on the day our friendship began.

Now, I love being married, but I didn’t think Graham would be too pleased to be sharing a bed with Townsend, so Townsend instead was given a prominent position in the closet, where I could still see him every day.  Whenever Graham is gone for a night or two, out comes Townsend to keep me company like he always did.

You may laugh at this silly story, but Townsend has gotten me here today.  His fur may be matted, his whiskers permanently pressed up against his face, but I will love him forever.

My very best friend.      

Farm Girl Wannabe

Kim and I on a tractor.

Yesterday, my friend Kim and I had the privilege of touring the Knutson farm in Centerville, SD.  We wore hats, took pictures in tractors, climbed grain bins, and drove without seatbelts down a gravel road.  All in all, a wonderful – yet brief – glimpse at country living.

For me, this quickly brought back memories of growing up in Lynden, a small town in Northwest Washington full of Romeo-wearing farmers.

When I was younger, my dad owned a dairy farm with three of his brothers – The DeWaard Dairy.  In all honesty, I was never much of a farm girl.  I own a pair of Romeos and Ariat boots, as well as a cowboy hat, not that this counts for much.  But I do have a few farming memories that will always hold a special place in my heart.

Chopping corn

When I was even younger than I can remember, I began riding with my dad in his silage truck while he and my Uncle Terry were chopping grass or corn.  We called this “filling silo,” despite the fact that they were filling up a bunker, not a silo, but the name was passed down from years gone by when they really did fill up a silo. 

L to R: Renae, Allison, Erica,
and Dad in the truck.

His first truck had a long bench seat, so sometimes my sisters and I would all ride at once.  But other times it was just the two of us.  While I do not remember the origins of this tradition, I would always tell my Uncle Terry jokes/riddles over the CB radio, and he would tell me more in return.  Sometimes when we drove up beside his tractor after a trip to the bunker, my Uncle Terry would pretend to be sleeping, to which I would readily respond, “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!” over the CB.

Many days I would ride for hours upon hours, but on one occasion in particular, this led to a unique situation.  I was riding with my dad after kindergarten one day because my mom was at work.  Being young, I had to go to the bathroom and couldn't hold it for much longer.  While there is a bathroom at the farm, I have never seen it, as I was strictly forbidden: I was a girl, and it was simply too dirty for my innocent eyes to see. 

This created quite the predicament.

My dad came up with the quickest solution he could:  I would simply have to sit on one of the tires outside the bunker and pee while he kept me from falling in.  Sometimes I wish I had somehow blocked this memory out of my mind, but it is still there, prominent as ever.  At least it makes quite the story.

Years later, my dad had to get a new silage truck, but this one only contained a seat for the driver and one passenger.  However, I still got to spend plenty of quality time with my dad, drinking lots of green Gatorade and eating Pringles.

Once or twice I got to ride on a tractor with my dad in early spring when he was discing, but somehow that did not hold quite the same glamour as filling silo: it was a bumpy ride on a very small seat and after several hours, one’s backside began to be in rather a lot of pain.

Two sleds connected, about to go
down.

My husband tends to laugh at me for this next memory, but it is as special as any other.  On the rare occasion when we actually received enough snow to cover all the grass and go sledding, my sisters and I headed to the farm.  We walked behind the barn and beside the woods until we came to the back of the manure pit – the absolute perfect place for sledding!  Now, just so everyone understands, we did not sled into the manure pit; we slid down the outside of the pit and out into the field.  We slid down, walked up, slid down, and walked up until my dad was ready to go home after finishing his farm chores.

This is not our field, but these are
similar to our sprinklers.

My last memory took place for several summers when I was in high school.  It was my dad’s job to move all of the irrigation pipes every morning and evening, and I often went along to help.  I would start at the top of the field and go down the line unhooking all of the pipes.  On my way back up, I would lift up one end of the pipe to drain out the water, thus making it easier to carry.  In the meantime, my dad began at the top of the field carrying the pipes to their new destination a little ways down the line.  We met in the middle, and I began helping him carry the pipes.  We stuck the plug in the end, walked back up the field, and turned the water back on, quickly glancing to make sure all the sprinklers were working properly before moving on to the second field.

Sometimes this moving of pipes resulted in some strange behavior, mostly on my end.  The fields were next to a fairly busy road; and I found great pleasure in lying down on my back in the deep grass, sticking my boot-clad feet high in the air and “waving” at the people driving by.  Don’t knock it until you try it: it is quite a hoot. 

P.S. “Did you know that sunsets look much prettier from upside down?”

I miss being a “farm girl,” at least as much of one as I ever was.  I suppose I never had to do any of the hard and dirty work, which may be why I have such an idealistic picture of the whole thing. 

But I would give anything to wake up at dawn and haul those sopping wet pipes across a field or fill silo with my dad just one more time…