The Rest of the Story*

While sitting around a fire on a recent adventure, an acquaintance told a "scary story." His four year old daughter was sitting on his lap so I wasn't expecting anything too disturbing. He set his scary scene with a couple of sentences and then said their was on the road a murdered. Wait for it. Potato bug. And then he just stopped. We all laughed for a minute and then I asked who murdered the bug. He seemed a little confused but threw out "ants" as the culprit. And then I realized that no one else cared.
I don't know why I care so much, but I often seem to find myself listening to talks or lectures or just friends and getting annoyed when they just seem to stop in the middle of a story.
There is so much about life that isn't a complete story. I mean when does a person's story end. With their death? with the end of their influence? Most stories are only snippets of bigger stories and I'm ok with those snippets as long as they have a beginning, middle and end.
I'm not a great story teller but I am definitely a consumer of stories and like to think that I am a writer of stories. All the questions don't need to be answered but the main threads need to be tied up.... so why do people seem to end at the middle?


*Yes this is a reference to Paul Harvey.

Consuming and Creating: Part 9: Discovery

Just a couple of posts ago I mentioned how I think that doscovery is an important part of enjoyment. This weekend I went to a National Park and played around in nature. It made me happy. I climbed up a giant sanddune and just smiled as I walked through the sand at the top (avoiding the scorpion tracks). I also really enjoyed wandering around right before sunset clambering over slick rock and admiring the Indian Paintbrush. I'm sure others have seen those things before but just finding these places myself was fun. My friend that I was with told some other friends that I was "euphoric" after these little escapades. I guess other people don't seem to get so excited about these kind of things... I guess I get it from my mom.
Although I have to admit that sometimes I don't feel like I appreciate some things as much as I should. We went on a sunrise hike. It was cool but it didn't seem that exciting...
Discovery and creation seem to be really connected in that way, as in they both give me the same triumphant feel. Without using the word "discovery" I wrote last month about how it can be a part of creation. In another post a couple of years ago, I wrote about being excited about the little things and how doing so makes you a good candidate for immortality. Perhaps they are more interrelated than I thought.

The Spread of Pet Peeves

I had a roommate a couple of years ago who hated when time was left on the microwave or cupboard doors were left open. Before that point I never even noticed, but to keep her happy I would try to fix these things.
Now I have a roommate who always leaves time on the microwave and it has started driving me crazy... ok that is an esageration but I would prefer if she didn't but I know it is not a real problem.
And I wonder if I would have noticed if it hadn't been for that first roommate.
So that is the danger of having pet peeves. They can spread!

Call Me Shrike

In senior english we had to write a "college essay." My college didn't require an essay but this is the one I wrote for the class, with comments made today in a set of foortnotes.


Call me Shrike (1). When I was about fourteen, I wanted an alias that could be used for computer games and my brother's online forum (2), but not just any name, it had to fit me.
My mom taught my siblings and me to love the outdoors, and because of this I wanted to choose a name from nature. I also wanted it to be unusual, and thirdly, it just needed to sound right. I began by looking through my mom's bird and plant books. In the index of her bird book, I came across “shrike.” Check. Check. Check. The first three requirements were now met, but did the bird fit my personality?
A shrike, or butcher bird, is fairly small. Although not the smallest in my family, I am the youngest.
It is called the butcher bird because of its strange practice of catching small animals such as lizards and impaling them on thorns. There it stores its prey for future use. When I first read about this bird I was slightly disturbed by its seemingly disgusting way of storing food. Soon, however, I got over this reserve and found this unusual behavior a fascinating way to make up for their lack of talons, or maybe I am just a little morbid (3). In addition, this method of storing food does suggest their emphasis on preparedness, which is important to me (4). This also seemed fitting because, although I come from a laid back family, I am the feistiest.
Butcher birds have nondescript plumage, it is mostly black, gray, and white. I feel that my appearance is nondescript, just like a shrike (5). When people look past my 'feathers' and get to know me they might find me just as surprising, but hopefully not as disgusting as the shrike (6).
The butcher bird's harsh cry appealed to me as well. At the time I chose my alias I rarely spoke in school, and although I don't consider myself particularly gregarious, I have become less reserved (7). The shrike's call also suited me because I am definitely no song bird!
Finally, like the shrike which lives throughout most of the United States, I have traveled much of the country.
Now I often go by "Shrike" in games. Although I chose the name four years ago, it still fits me well. My love of nature, my preparedness, and my slightly passive-aggressive nature have not changed since then. Shrike was, and is, the perfect name for me (8).

(1) This is a reference to the first line of Moby Dick, which I rebelliously liked, because no one else did. "Call me Ishmael."

(2) I still use this as my default alias for online things. I also continue to feel connected to shrikes. 

(3) When my siblings proofread this paper they objected to this word choice. They thought it implied that I was a cutter or just goth. That is not what I meant but I didn't know how else to say it. My friend introduced me last week by saying, "she likes dead things." It's true. I like bones (as you would know if you're read this blog). Perhaps I am a bit morbid.

(4) Sometimes I get weirdly defensive when I don't have something someone needs, even if there is no reason I should have it.

(5) Not only do I feel nondescript but I prefer to dress nondescript. Unlike my sister who wears red because it is her "happy color," I avoid wearing red and some other warm bright colors most of the time because it makes me feel too obvious.

(6) I've decided I might be a bit quirky and most of the time I like that... but I also have a pretty good filter so my odder traits/actions I squelch most of the time. Sometimes I wonder if that is a good thing or not, maybe it is better to be blatantly odd from the beginning... but it is easier to get offended that way.

(7) This continues to be true, I have become less reserved in some situations (but not all). But I have also realized I tend to be pretty blunt, I don't sugarcoat things much, and that might not make my "call" appealing to some.

(8) Well it's been more than 10 years since I choose "shrike" as an alias, and wrote about it... and yet it still seems to fit. Maybe I was a wiser 14 year old than I thought. Or maybe I just want it to fit so I make it. :)