2013 - The Year of ME!

Hello 2013! You were totally made for me.

13 has always been a bit of a lucky number for me, you can say we were born together:

• I was born on the 13th.
• I have 13 letters in my full name... which is interesting since my mom only used one N for my Lyn instead of the more standard NN.
• I'm a 76er! 7+6=13!
• I was born in the 4th month (1+3=4) and that also happens to be my name!
• A lot of times when my birthday lands on a Friday it tends to be Good Friday... extra luck!
• My 13th birthday was awesome!

Okay, some of these are reaching.. but still the number 13 as always be good to me. I'm hope that luck will be with me throughout the year!

In the past, I've always started the year with a bunch of pretty specific resolutions... and I all my years I've never completed one. 7 weeks is about the longest I think I've ever kept anything. So I'm not doing that to myself this year. I do plan on setting some goals, but I'm keeping them loose and I'm not going to stress over them or freak out because I struggle to keep them up. If I succeed, WOO HOO... if not, I'm not going to beat myself up about it. I'm going to be flexible. I'll still try my hardest, an in the end that is all that will matter... I tried.

Here are some of the things I hope to accomplish by the end of the year.

• The 2013 Reading Challenge on Goodreads. Aiming for 10 books. 
• Purge, Purge, Purge - We got rid of a good amount of stuff in 2012 and we still have a lot to go!
• Project 52 - Take 5 or 6 - In the past I think I've made it too difficult. This year I have an easy topic!
• Do a lot of writing, drawing, and crafting.
• Work on becoming a toy historian, or as I like to say - toy geek!
• Lose some weight, try to eat better, do some exercising. No set # of pounds or days. Just work it into a routine instead of make it a project.
• Just be me.

That's it. Simple goals, no pressure. No hard and fast deadlines. And I'm not going to fret. It'll be what it'll be.

Happy 2013 Everyone!

Bio of a Baby Blanket

As I mentioned in my post on Monday, my mom is one of my biggest cheerleaders. I wrote this story in 2005 for an English assignment and to this day, she says it's one of her favorite pieces. Happened to come across it the other day and decided to share. A lot has changes since I wrote it, but Gryffin and the blanket are still a big part of my life!


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Bio of a Baby Blanket

I’m not sure where I was born or where I spent the early days of my life, though I do know that I was created by someone. The first real memory I have is being inside a dark space, then suddenly I hear some noises and I see a bright light (though not so bright that I was blinded). I remember being held up and shown off. I am 28 inches by 37 inches and yellow with tigers, sheep, and giraffes on me (the animals are a weird combination, I know). I was a baby shower gift for Janet, who was currently pregnant with the person that I would become so special to. I was not the most popular item that day, and Janet didn’t want to use me, but April sought me out. She picked me as her favorite. She wanted to love me.

During my early years, I followed April around from her different homes, (life of an Air Force brat) doing the normal things that a blanket like myself did (though I do not do normal things now). She slept with me every night and used me to wrap her dolls (I wrap a much different thing now). She cuddled with me on the couch and took me with her to sleepovers. We were inseparable.

As the years went on, April started to grow and change (which she is still doing). She didn’t play with her dolls anymore and I often landed under the bed, as she kicked me off during the night. Her bed was white with gold trim and very princess like. It was a twin size and when April hit double digits in age, her feet used to hang over the edge (hence the being kicked off). When we turned 11 years old, there was a major change in our lives. This was the year she got a new bed. It was a full size, solid pine bed with drawers under it (that is still her bed to this day). I was so excited for the drawers under the bed! That meant no more falling underneath it. But then the worst possible thing happened. April stopped sleeping with me. Was this the end for me? Was I not going to be loved anymore?

From that moment on, and for the next few years, I hung on the footboard collecting dust and watched April’s life go by. She grew up; graduated from 8th grade, then from high school. Soon, she was packing for college. Would she take me with her? As I watched her pack her things, she removed me from the end of the bed and threw me in the wash. Yeah! I was getting cleaned before I headed to Western CT State with her. How awesome for me, I was going to college. I came out of the dryer, all warm and toasty (a feeling I am now able to feel again), and I got folded. But I didn’t go in her suitcase; I headed into a closet. A cold, dark, and lonely closet, where I sat on a shelf next to Barbies and Legos that I hadn’t seen in years. At 18 years of age, the end of my life seemed near.

Years go by before I will next see the full light of day. April returned home from Western after only a year, due to grade issues (she never was the best student, and still isn’t). She moved back into her room and I saw brief pieces of light when the closet opens, but I was never removed from my spot on the shelf. At the age of 21, April moved out of her room and into an apartment. As she packed to move, I was removed from the shelf and put in a box (boxes are as bad as closets). I moved with her to the apartment, but I never left the box. After a year she returned home to her parents, but I didn’t go with her. I stayed in my box and headed into storage (to this day I have been to two different storages places). I could tell it was storage by the unpleasant smell. This whole process repeated itself at the ages of 24 and 28. At least she hadn’t gotten rid of me.

At 28, I was taken out of my box and moved into a wooden chest with the rest of her blankets (still in the dark). But then something changed. I heard April crying all the time and she is rarely got much sleep. This was not my April. She was not happy. The home we were in was cold and dark and a very unhappy place. April now lived the same life I did: cold, dark, and lonely. I started to worry about her. I heard her talking on the phone to her mom a few times a day, and the calls were very sad. One day we had gotten a visitor. It was Christmas time (based on the music I heard) and April’s mom had come to visit. One day April and her mom left the apartment only to return a few hours later carrying a lot of items. Since I was stuck in my chest, I was not sure what the items were. There was a lot of excitement and activity coming from them. Whatever it was, April was happy again. It was the happiest I had heard her in awhile. What made her so pleased?

I saw a bright light (though not so bright that I was blinded) as the lid to my chest was opened. April pulled me out and held me up to show me off. I saw a bunch of bags all around the apartment and something gray sitting on the floor in a ball. April folded me up and laid me near to the gray ball. It began to move and walked over to me. Oh, it was a kitten. April patted me and said to the cat “This is your new blanket. Welcome home, Gryffin.” What was this? Was I getting a new owner? I heard April refer to the cat as her son, so I guess I was passed on to the next generation. Gryffin was warm and cuddly and I was reminded of when April was young. She was happy, which made me happy (there was a long time were I wasn’t so happy). And I saw the light. And I was warm.

Now at the age of 29 (give or take a few months), I spend my days getting chewed on, slept on, and just plan walked on. I am happy that I am being used (instead of being stuck in a dark place); even if the teeth and nails are sharp. At least I am loved and I feel useful. My new playmate cannot talk to me (at least not in the traditional sense), but he is warm and playful and cuddly. I won’t be wrapped around any of his toys and I won’t be used every night. But I am loved once again.

The Writing Roller Coaster

Roller Coaster at
Dorney Park in PA

When it comes to writing, it's been an up and down sort of relationship for me. As a child I enjoyed it. Book reports, short stories, poems... I couldn't get enough. And I was pretty good at it. A book I wrote for a writing competition in the 8th grade actually earned an honorable mention. A book... 45 Pages, 27 Chapters - though to be fair, each chapter is only one page. But, still. It even had pictures! I still have it. Someday, I might even type it up and post it online.

Even in high school I didn't mind the creative writing or research paper assignments. Papers on books, however, I started to hate. A book report in elementary school, no problem. Analysis of a literary classic, no thank you. As the analysis papers started to outnumber the creative writing projects my dislike for writing grew. And it got worse and worse as I got older. Every correction on a paper sent closer to the edge. The older I got, the more mistakes I got corrected on and the more I dreaded writing. It got to the point in college that I would have a full on panic attack over having to write a paper. Had to take English 101 4 times (or was it 5) before I passed it. Thankfully, my last English teacher was very encouraging and that calmed a bit of the anxiety. But it's not completely gone... If I get pressed with a deadline I get terribly freaked out. And it takes everything I have to try and get it done. It's why I only write for my own blogs these days... Can't handle the pressure of someone else's deadline.

One of my reasons for getting papers back with the dreaded red marks is I am a terrible speller. And that spelling issue led to a hatred of really long words. We did have computers back in the day, so I was able to type out the larger assignments. And there was spell check, although it was pretty basic. It told you if something was wrong, but no options for how to correctly spell the word. And with no real Internet at the time you had to crack open a dictionary to find the correct spelling. Or if you were like me, rewrite the entire sentence to avoid using that word. I had to do that a lot on in class work where a computer wasn't an option. I still do it today, though thanks to spell check being everywhere, I don't have to do it a lot. And I know there are critics who say spell check makes you lazy or a poor writer, but I feel because of it I'm a better writer and my spelling has improved.

Even with spell check, to this day I still have issues with words like thing/think, change/chance, and of course, then/than. There isn't a spell checker in the world that can cure me of those errors. If you are ever reading something I wrote and see something with those words and it doesn't make sense... replace it with its match. I'm constantly doing it on Facebook and Twitter. Even when proof reading my posts I tend to miss them. The only way I really know if I made the mistake is my mom points them out to me. I've gotten a whole lot better at proofing my work, so I find I'm making the mistakes less and less.

Speed is another reason for errors in my writing. I think way faster than I write or type. This causes words and letters to get a little "out of order" so to speak. There is a classic quote by A. A. Milne, the creator of Winnie-the-Pooh that pretty much sums me up in the spelling and writing department:

“My spelling is Wobbly. It's good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places.” - A. A. Milne

Thankfully, these days the writing bug seems to be returning. Because of a lot of praise for my writing in recent years and my biggest cheerleader, my mom, I've been pushing myself to write more and worry less. If it's a tricker piece, I have editor friends that are happy to help. If it's a more personal post, I don't sweat it... The mistakes add character. ;) And I've come to rely a lot on my dictionary widget on my MacBook, you know, for those tough words. Also, general experience, lots of reading, and a ton of college classes has done wonders for my vocabulary and spelling, though it's not nearly as impressive as I wish it was. Maybe by the time I'm 60, I'll be able to toss around those massive words that my professional writer and teacher friends use... Though, if I did, someone might think I was body snatched, because big words aren't really my style. Unless they are words like Raxacoricofallapatorius... then it's okay, unless you ask me to spell it.