In the Pursuit of Matcha

  I'm a girl who loves adventures, especially the unexpected kinds, and today one greeted me with its arms open wide. It all started out innocently enough; I had recently read multiple skincare books in my determination to clear up my skin and they all promoted matcha (a Japanese green tea). Yes, matcha is primarily intended for consumption, but I wanted to use it for face masks that I found multiple recipes for.

  This afternoon Mum and I had to run some errands and we were going to stop by a little country shop along the way where I knew that matcha was for sale. I was very excited at the opportunity to finally get my hands on this health guru-proclaimed super food and I set out having completely resolved to procure some of this wondrous green tea that I've heard so much about, and along the way I made three unexpected friends, hid behind a shelf, and waved tiny bags of walnuts in front of a lady's face.

  If you know me well you will know that I am a firm believer that the best adventures must be had on foot (preferably in bare feet) and so it was very fitting that as I was driving to that particular matcha-carrying store I suddenly realized that while I was wearing shoes, I had forgotten to wear socks. Don't ask me how that even happens because I have no idea either. After confessing that horrible fact to Mum she instructed me to stop in at a Dollar General and fetch some socks.

  I ran around inside of that store for quite a while and after finding some socks that had strange motivational quotes on the soles I bought them and promptly dressed my feet when I returned to our vehicle.

  Having fixed that little issue I went on my way and soon we were parked in front of that little country store.

  We browsed for a while and then I decided that it was time to find the matcha. I looked all over the tea section but couldn't find any. However, I remembered that they had a section in the store where they sold specialty drinks, usually the exotic sort. It seemed like the next most likely place for matcha so I abandoned Mum and ran over to the shelves of coffees and teas imported from lesser-known countries.

  While there, a particularly effusive and smiling, curly-headed woman walked past me and chatted merrily with her two friends. They were discussing walnuts because apparently the bubbly woman needed them for the dinner that she was making this evening. I listened to their conversation only vaguely because I was very focused on finding matcha.

  No matter how long I stared at those shelves I couldn't find any. But I wasn't ready to give up yet. I was walking back to the initial tea shelf and I just passed an aisle where they had a whole collection of chopped walnuts dangling in tiny bags. I thought of the woman that I had overheard and considered telling her about my discovery but I decided not to just in case I had misheard her or in the chance that she might be offended at my eavesdropping.

  I had just decided not to tell her when I heard a familiar voice behind me. "Excuse me miss, do you work here?"

  I turned around and that very same woman I was just telling you about was standing there with a hopeful expression on her face. I couldn't stand to disappoint her so after telling her that no, I don't work at that establishment, I told her I might know where the something was that she was looking for (after all, I had a vague idea about what she might be looking for).

  She smiled and said that she was looking for walnuts. Naturally I spun around and gestured quite dramatically at the tiny bags of walnuts. She laughed in a very musical and contagious way and declared that she was looking for a much larger bag but she appreciated my efforts. I wished her good luck and went right back to hunting down that highly elusive tea of mine.

  After searching high and low, left and right, for it I decided that I couldn't find it by myself. Just as I was about to give up, that lovely lady and her two friends came around the corner. I decided that turnabout was fair play and asked her if she might know where matcha was.

  I ended up explaining what it was to all of those ladies. They also discovered that I wanted it not to consume but to use on my face. It amused all of them so much that within seconds we were all standing around laughing. One of them calmed down enough to say that she bet I discovered matcha online and after I admitted that I did they all laughed again until they were shaking. Those dear women helped me look for matcha for a while but then we all gave up together and I followed their suggestion to ask someone up front about it.

  Soon I had a store employee walking confidently in front of me. She marched right up to that dreadful tea shelf and after rummaging around the back she pulled out a teensy packet of matcha. "This is the last one" she said. I thanked her profusely and was just doing a celebratory happy dance when those three women I had met walked by and spotted the matcha. They congratulated me and after laughing some more they went on their way.

  I glanced down at the price tag on that tiny bag and almost fainted. I walked over to my Mum and we decided that it simply wasn't worth it. I detested the idea of putting it back after knowing what a great ordeal it had been to actually find some. The three women were still standing around chatting cheerfully with one another and so I hid behind shelves and once they were looking elsewhere I dashed across the aisles and tucked the matcha back in its place. Having accomplished my mission I walked back to my Mum and we both left that place feeling like an adventure had just been had.

  I didn't end up with what I had set out wanting, but I did leave that store having experienced something much better, a completely absurd adventure whose memory will serve to delight me for many days ahead.

Getting My Driver's License

  The process of becoming a legally licensed driver was one of the most difficult and stressful things I've ever gone through in my life and I'm blessed because of that. I had so many little adventures during the eight to nine months it took me to become licensed and I thought it would be fun to do a blog post about my experience.

  My very first driving lesson happened a little less than an hour after I got my permit. My Mum pulled into the parking lot of a nearby biking trail and she handed me the keys after showing me the gas and brake. I was absolutely horrified as I stared at those keys in my hand. I thought that it was a truly idiotic thing to give me, an overly dramatic teenager, the keys to the family's primary vehicle. As I looked around the parking lot and saw all of the potential ways I could destroy the vehicle I started sweating and couldn't breathe properly for quite a while afterwards.

  I stomped on the gas a little bit harder than needed and so began the season of my life where I learned to drive. That first day, and for weeks afterwards I had a terrible time knowing how close I was to the edge of the road and taking curves was one of the hardest things ever. Instead of slowing down I'd stomp on the gas and send us hurtling around the bumpy bends on numerous little country roads hitting every pothole while I was at it.

  There are two quite large stones positioned at the entrance of that little bike trail parking lot and the entrance just happens to be positioned right around a curve in the road, therefore the first few times that I entered the area I would stomp on the gas and go hurtling straight towards the big rocks. Somehow I always got the steering wheel turned just in time to avoid destroying our lovely little vehicle. I can imagine that my guardian angel was very busy while I was learning to drive.

  Driving on big roads and interstates where the speed limit seemed ridiculously high was the thing that gave me nightmares. I remember very clearly praying one morning that God would give me as many situations as possible for me to practice my driving skills before I take my test and somehow I didn't expect Him to answer quite like He did.

  That very same day I had to drive on a big interstate that was rather busy. It was foggy and it was raining lightly and I had many times where I had to slow down because of different people pulling out right in front of me. To make it more interesting I drove past our destination twice so not only did I get to practice turning around, the whole dreadful day was topped off with me backing down the driveway to my Dad's shop. While I appreciated how well the Lord provided me with scenarios of practice for me I didn't exactly ask for such things again.

  I'm a little bit of a perfectionist and I had a lot of anxiety to deal with during those eight to nine months so while most teenagers view the road test as exciting and they just want their licenses already, I was a very timid person busily dreading my upcoming test with such anxiety that I was almost ceaselessly in prayer. I take things too seriously, I always have, and I took my upcoming test very seriously. Nevertheless, on the day when my driver's test was first scheduled I was woefully unprepared. I had tried parallel parking with mixed success and felt anything but confident going in on the big day.

  I tried to be calm, I really did, but I was still  quaking in my shoes. The driving examiner, bless his heart, was a very kind man, I can't really remember many details about him other than I recall him being extremely tall and talking rather loudly.

  The first things I had to do were operating various vehicle controls. I succeeded rather miraculously because he told me to do something I'd never done before. When it came time to parallel park my stomach was in one gigantic knot, a gigantic throbbing knot.

  I backed out of my spot and I recall being pleased that I remembered to look over my shoulders and all of that jazz, but when I pulled up to parallel park I knew that I wouldn't pass. I tried valiantly to park our vehicle and the dear examiner didn't say a thing as I tried and tried again.

  Long story short, I failed and did a magnificent job of it.  I didn't cry on the way home or any time afterwards because I was too busy thinking about the fact that I'd have to experience the whole wretched thing again.

  After failing that once I devoted my life to doing as much as I could to preparing myself. I prayed almost ceaselessly, listened tirelessly to songs I found comforting, and practiced parallel parking again and again using the system that my dear Dad taught me how to set up using four buckets and various stick-y things.  Day after day I spent hours practicing until it felt strange to not have a steering wheel in my hands.

  After fourteen hours of parking practice the big day rolled around again and back I went to the driving center. The second time around I remember how much clearer everything felt, and how alert I was to everything. Things looked brighter, sounded clearer, and registered better in my mind. The test day was blessedly sunny and I smiled as much as possible and spent all of my time in the waiting room praying. Some people say that taking your driver's test isn't a big deal, to me it was huge.

  When I saw who my driving examiner would be I was disappointed (in retrospect I see just what a blessing it really was) the man was middle-aged, a bit overweight, and grumpy, most likely because it was a warm day and he had a boring job. To his credit he spoke kindly in introduction and when Mum handed me the keys for the second time in that exact same spot I took them the first time, whispered a prayer under my breath, forced a smile with my lips and marched out the door little knowing that I was about to have one of the best days of my life.

  The man began by telling me all of the usual things that all examiners do. I assume it was the Holy Spirit that made this introverted girl open her mouth and we weren't halfway across the parking lot when for whatever reason I asked the driving examiner if he liked his job. The robotic expression he had been using slid right off of his face and he laughed in shock. That unexpected question changed everything and he talked to me cheerfully from then on as if we had been friends for years.

  All too soon I was told I have to parallel park, and I think that the Lord must have custom-made the examiner for me because he spoke the exact words I needed to hear throughout the whole process to calm me.

  I pulled up to the parking spot with my turn signals clicking away steadily. I took a deep breath, turned my steering wheel sharply and the next thing I remember is the driving instructor telling me I did it. I sat there in jubilant surprise and I'm convinced that it wasn't me who did the parking. All I did was turn the wheel and I don't remember anything else from then on till the examiner told I did it. Maybe the Lord took over, who knows, what I do know is that I was told the parking was done perfectly and that I had parked in just one maneuver out of the legal three.

  Everything else was just peachy. That seemingly abrupt question before we ever got into the vehicle had broken any crankiness that the man had had and the rest of the test was spent with us chatting merrily.

  I felt such joy after parking. The man told me I had passed without a single mistake and I felt like I was flying as I told my Mum and then the exuberance I felt when leaving with my license in hand was one of the happiest moments in my entire life, probably the happiest aside from being born again.

  I left the driving center that day having just gained a license, but now I see that the process of procuring a license didn't only provide me with a license, but also a much closer relationship with my heavenly Father. There are many things I can praise Him for in my life, and today's blog post talked about just some of the ways He's blessed me. Yes, God could have prepared me to pass the first time around, but I'm much closer to Him because of my initial failure.

Sugar-free isn't Sweet...

     Nutrition books and I are very good friends, I could spend hours in the library simply choosing which nutrition books to read next, I take my time when I pick them because it's always disappointing when I'm ready to read them and then I find out they aren't at all what I expected.
     A few weeks ago I picked up a new and intriguing nutrition book called Sugar Smart Express. I've read in other books that cutting sugar out of your diet will clear up your acne (sadly I'm a teen that's afflicted with acne) and now I've finally found a book that actually tells you how to do it, in my excitement I read the book in a few hours.
     It shared a plan on how to "detox" from sugar and I had big hopes of clear skin (and in all honesty I still do), but in order to do the whole plan you have to eat the meals and things that they give the recipes for. To me it seemed like no big deal. My Mum, sister, and I went shopping a few days ago and I picked up all the things that I need for my mission which has been lovingly dubbed. Adventures in Food: Episode Clear Skin.
    Today was day one of phase one. I cooked up my breakfast this morning, a pretty plate of savory pancakes topped with tomatoes.

      With my jar of lemon water beside me, I dug into the pancakes. Words can't describe the shock and confusion I experienced upon that first bite. Each pancake was like a sheet of gritty, slimy, and curdle-y mush. The taste? Unspeakably nasty. With my trusty diary beside me I documented the experience, "I wonder if stomachs can gag, I bet it was hurrying the full signal to my brain..."
  My expression was horrified and disgusted, you don't have to simply take my word for it, apparently my dear Mum sneaked an unsuspecting picture of me as I was trying to summon the courage to take another bite.
 

     It was such a horrible meal that I ended up throwing half of it into the bin (a.k.a trash...garbage...rubbish, whatever you wish to call it)
     I have decided (out of the goodness of my heart) that I shall share the recipe with you. I know the picture doesn't capture the terrible taste, in fact the breakfast looks almost good.

 Basil-Mozzarella Pancakes

1/3 cup rolled oats
1 egg
3 tbsp milk
4 tbsp shredded part-skim mozzarella cheese
1/3 cup chopped tomatoes
1 tbsp + 1 tsp chopped fresh basil ( I didn't use basil, I don't like it)

 Blend the oats in a blender until you have fine crumbs (also known as oat flour), add the egg and milk, blend till smooth, stir in half of the cheese and basil, plus a pinch of salt and pepper. Cook as 2-3 pancakes. Top with the remaining basil and the tomatoes.

If you do try them, I would love to hear what you thought about them, though if you don't try them I won't blame you, in fact I'll call you wise.

Of Smelly Bread and Baker's Dread

  It is now officially Fall, and there is just something so completely magical about this time of the year, it seems that the smell of cinnamon wafts out from every kitchen, the sun shines more cheerfully than ever, the leaves twirl about, dancing on their way down to the ground, and young girls like me are inspired to bake as never before.

  Recently I got a lovely, and quite massive nutrition book from my dear Mum, punnily enough, I devoured it. I have learned so much from it and still am learning. It was finally a nutrition book that wasn't promoting some sort of a fad, it gave both sides of the nutrition coin, and left me to form my own opinions. Blabbering aside, I eagerly read the recipes in that book and jumped at every chance I got to make them. The one recipe that intrigued me above all others was a recipe for sourdough bread, which I would first have to make my own starter. Not a big deal I thought, it sounded fun.

  On day one of my starter making experiment, I simply mixed a cup of flour with a cup of cold water. It was easy peasy and rather fun. As my wooden spoon swirled around in the bowl I was already seeing gorgeous tall and proud loaves of the most delicious sourdough that ever was, and that would be made without an ounce of effort.

  It's such a sad thing I've learned that daydreams most often are beautiful, little, fluttery fancies that love to dance around people's minds when the people in question ought to be facing the facts, like me, when I should have expected that I, having never baked sourdough before, let alone made my own starter, that I would have a relatively high chance of a complete disaster.

  I believe it was two days later, perhaps only one, when my whole family noticed something odd about that starter, the smell was just a little more than off-putting, if you want an example of how awful the smell was, I shall give you one, ponder this, if you enjoyed the sensation of consciousness, then you wouldn't walk within two yards of that bowl of starter.

  It came to the point that each evening, as I approached that bowl of starter I quivered from the tip of my nose to the tops of my toes with dread. Yanking the cloth off the bowl was similar to walking into a creaking house deep in the woods, in the middle of the night, where you are certain that something horrible awaits you.

  It was like a horror movie (I am not truly qualified to tell you that since I have never watched a horror movie) as in, the situation only became more gruesome with each passing minute. When I removed that cloth, a scent, not so different from walrus vomit, punched me in the face. As I stood there, reeling about, trying to gather my senses, I noticed that the "hooch" ( a liquid, similar to alcohol that surfaces during the fermentation period, also drunk by miners that were desperate for alcohol back in the day) was a lurk-y sort of grayish black color and turned my stomach just to look at.

  That night I felt hopeless, I knew that my lovely loaves of bread were doomed. It was with a broken heart that I researched sourdough starters like crazy, it seems that in the first few days a sweaty sock like smell is not to be scared about, "however, if it smells like vomit, you're just better off throwing everything in the bin and starting over," at least that's what the experts said. The only bright side possible, was that my starter did not simply smell like vomit, it smelled like stewed vinegar and sardine blubber.

  I read a little more about starters and gave up after reading about some doctor who was so boastful of his masterful starter redeeming skills. I smacked down my tablet (a current tech device that is often overlooked in the pursuit of smartphones, not a pad of paper) and marched down to my bowl of starter, I was about to heal my starter, to pull it out of its pit of hopelessness.

  The first thing I did was drain off that horrible "hooch." I would have pinched my nose shut, but then I would have dropped the bowl, which in retrospect would have saved me a lot of work, then from that day on, I split my daily starter feedings into two feedings half the size of what my daily feeding usually was and took care to drain the hooch each time.

  Two days ago, I pulled the cloth off of my bowl, just like usual, and then went shrieking in the opposite direction. I know, you're probably thinking that the "hooch" returned and tried to grab me. But nope, my starter was a gorgeous tan color, it was frothy and bubbling and the soft and sweet smell of nutty and yeasty wine wafted from the bowl, just like they said a healthy starter would. I rushed to each of my family members and squealed with pride over my dear little starter. It was healed, it was healthy and beautiful and filled my heart with delight.

  Tomorrow is the last day that it has to ferment before I can bake it. So yes, there is a possibility that I shall end up with dough bricks smelling of wine, but I shall not fret about it for now, because for this moment I shall once again succumb to daydreams of gorgeous, tall, and proud loaves of the best sourdough bread ever.

The Day I Almost Died

  Every single last person I am friends with has told me at one point in our friendship, that I'm dramatic, some have even said I'm overly dramatic, and would say so again with one glance at the title of my post, but no, this time I'm not simply being dramatic (at least not too much) last evening, I truly almost died, but, I'm here to tell the tale.

  I believe it was last Saturday when the fair came to town, and my family was properly excited about it for we have never gone before. We had originally planned to go this Monday but it was pouring down rain, so we postponed our visit till yesterday. We hustled to the fairgrounds which happened to be very muddy, and after getting our wrist bands, and parking, we began our trek around the premises.

  Since this was my first fair,  I was extraordinarily excited when I discovered that all the rides were free,  Diane and I, as well as Mum and Sean, all rode the Ferris Wheel, which was fun and definitely a good choice for our first ride. The couple that sat in the cart next to us was very busy, the girl was taking selfies, and the guy was smoking, which wasn't pleasant at all because at every turn of the Ferris Wheel I got a face full of his smoke. At the top of the wheel I could see all the other rides which looked pretty intense to my typically timid self. The one ride that scared me above all others was this great almost roller coaster like capsule that people buckled into and went flipping and spinning upside down in. I told myself that there was no way I'd do that ride, no way.

  After getting off the Ferris wheel my Mum and Sean went to my Dad who was reserving seats for us at the bull riding event/rodeo. Eldon stared up at the capsule of doom and declared he would never ride it, so instead we three made our way to the flying car ride, which wasn't the most fun.

  It was after that ride however that Eldon seemed to have found his adventurous side and declared that us girls would ride with him in the capsule of doom.  I won't say that I was against the idea completely but I shuddered at all the piercing screams that sounded every time the monstrous thing flipped. Diane and I shared one compartment, and Eldon sat right behind us, offering comforting words prior to the ride.

  We were all supposed to pull a shoulder guard over our heads, and latch our seat belts, which we did. Unfortunately, my shoulder guard didn't lock, and I knew that when the capsule started flipping I'd be hanging upside down only by my seat belt. No words can describe the terror, and perhaps even the beginning of hysteria that took over me when the guy in charge flipped down the side gate to the capsule and started it up.
  I have always been really sensitive to motion sickness and I do believe that I might have barfed if I wasn't so busy being terrified out of my wits. The capsule started swinging up one side and then went down the other, it was a mild thing, like as if I was swinging. and then slowly I could feel us ascending and finally in a flash of speed we went hurtling up and up and the capsule starting flipping to the other side. Also known as a brief period of hanging upside down. Diane and I shrieked hysterically and as I hung up there kept from a plummet to my doom only by a measly seat belt, I knew, I just knew that this was it, I was going to die.

  Every time I watched a movie, and someone was about to die they seemed to fight for life, and in the comfort of my living room I thought that if I was ever in  a dire situation I'd just up and die, and spare me all the trouble of trying to stay alive. Not true.

  Over and over that horrendous capsule flipped and over and over I screamed and fought for my dear life , clinging to the rails and banging my wrists into the bars as I hung suspended by nothing other than my flimsy seat belt, the safety guard being utterly useless.. My flip flops constantly threatened to fall off and I'd only catch them when the capsule had finished a flip.

  There are many books out in the world, where the main characters are said to be Christians, and they pray only when they are about to die, I always thought it was ridiculous to save prayers for just those times, and while it is true that I still think along those lines, I myself, was praying fervently every time the capsule flipped so I shall not judge such books too harshly anymore.

  Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of hanging, the capsule flipped a final time and stood suspended upside down for such a long period of time, that I thought for certain that the operator had no heart. Eventually the ride was over and I stumbled out with swollen knee caps and bruised wrists, and praying prayers of thanks for surviving that malfunctioning seat of horror. I'm not sure what all I was hitting during that awful ride, but I'm still sore this morning, and still have visible bruise marks from it.

  While it is true that the rest of the fair was absolutely splendid heaps of fun, and that I got to have more enjoyable rides, I shall never again ride such a thing again, especially not one with a faulty safety device, and I'm certain that roller coasters and I would not be friends.

M ~ Muesli

  My whole family knows I absolutely love all things British, in fact it is not uncommon for me to randomly speak with an English accent throughout the day. My love is so deep that I frequently try new foods that are known for being whole-heartedly English, like bangers and mash for example.

  I think it was a few months ago when I tried my first bowl of Bircher muesli and loved it so dearly that I ate it everyday for lunch for quite some time, and I relished every spoonful. Then a few days after I had discovered my passion for Bircher muesli, I came across a package of some healthy muesli in our local bulk food store. Surely you must be able to guess my excitement. I bought the package of muesli with the utmost confidence and prepared it to be enjoyed the next morning.

  That morning I woke up feeling excited and I hustled downstairs and pounced upon my bowl of muesli. I scooped up a spoonful of the surprisingly gelatinous gruel and moments later went shrieking in the other direction. I don't know if it was just the brand of muesli that I had purchased or what exactly it was, but the only way I can come even remotely close to describing the taste of the muesli is that it was reminiscent of walking out into a soggy cow pasture, picking up a rock, and scraping the underneath of the rock into a bowl, and sitting down to eat it.

  If you happen to know of a terrific muesli that you personally love, please let me know, anything is appreciated as long as it doesn't taste like cow pasture.

Why a Human Hamster Wheel is Never a Good Idea

     Everyone in my family knows that when someone gets into a scrape it was usually caused by me, and they are right of course. But I simply can't help it, my imagination and ideas always get the better of me. They always sound like solid, good, ingenious ideas at the time but more often than not I find myself in a predicament. Which brings us to my latest and greatest idea that landed my sister Diane and I into "a heap of trouble."

     On March 16th, Wednesday, in the year 2016 another great idea came to mind on a beautifully sunny afternoon in our back yard. While Diane and I were wandering around outside I noticed an old, rusted, hay feeder propped up on a small pile of old logs in our back yard. Well,  since I love to put old things to good use, I came up with a  brilliant idea for the hay feeder. Why let it rust away all lonely on that pile of logs when Diane and I could just simply hoist it off the logs and roll across the yard on it like a human hamster wheel, have an adventure, and then put it back where we got it.

     Well, we did have an adventure all right, a hilariously horrible one. First, moving the feeder off of the logs was a lot harder than I had expected because it was really heavy. Our creek was right behind the feeder so if we weren't careful we were all going to crash right into the creek with the hay feeder on top of us. The whole time while we were heaving and pushing Diane was very busy muttering  "all of your crazy ideas" and, "why do I always get dragged into your crazy ideas."

     When we finally got the feeder lifted off of the logs we almost met our doom when the feeder decided it would be nice to hurtle towards the creek, Diane and I shrieked and tugged and finally managed to drag it over to a flat spot in our back yard. I climbed into the hay feeder thinking that all of our hard work was just about to be paid off, I grabbed onto the feeder's rungs and started rolling, but instead of the effortless carefree fun I had imagined the feeder insisted on rolling backwards when I wasn't rolling it forward. Diane was quickly behind me propping up the feeder as I rolled and stumbled onto my face in a forward progression.

     Even after seeing how my turn had been Diane took a turn too, but this time it was down the hill towards the pile of logs where we were going to hoist the feeder up again after Diane had finished her turn. But goodness! Her turn was horrifying, we went flying down that hill with my heels digging into the grass, leaving ugly marks behind us while Diane screeched at the top of her lungs, all of that time of course, that feeder was intent on rattling along making an exuberant amount of noise as the rusty bolts hit the ground. When I finally stopped the runaway "Hamster wheel" Diane and I slowly turned to face each other, with both of us fearing that Mom would stick her head out of the living room window any minute now to find us trying to casually hide the massive hay feeder behind us.

     It was time to put the hay feeder back where we got. Naturally, it was not anywhere near as easy as I had expected, I had forgotten to calculate the tree that was hovering over the log pile in the first place so instead of rolling the hay feeder onto the logs we smacked it into tree branches almost decapitating ourselves. I burst out laughing at the hilarity of the situation while Diane questioned my sanity. Eventually we got it dragged over  beside the logs where we decided we should just hoist it side-ways onto the logs and push it on the rest of the way.  That impossible hunk of metal was even heavier than we had ever imagined it would be.

     After extreme exertion we managed to lift it onto the pile of logs and we hurriedly propped it up and almost collapsed with exhaustion. One thing we had completely forgotten though is that the hay feeder was extremely rusty so when we looked at our hands they were completely covered in thick, crusty, layers of orange filth.

     Two things I learned though from this adventure. Number one, rust washes off of hands moderately easy. And number two, A human hamster wheel is never, under no circumstances, a good idea.

Never Trust Pinterest with your Face

     As a teen I am trying to accept the fact that  I struggle with pimples. Everyone knows how evil those swollen little lumps of red are. I have tried different things that didn't work and my Mom got some things, but they also didn't do anything for my condition.

    Then one day while browsing through Pinterest I found this supposedly "wonderful" home remedy for pimples. It called for apple cider vinegar, honey, and egg whites, I was set, I had finally found the perfect pimple solution. I planned the treatment for early the next morning in hopes of having a pimple free face to go to church on Sunday.

     When I awoke the next day I hurried downstairs, skimmed through the recipe and the instructions and set out to make it. I started mixing my ingredients together and making sure to measure them properly I got everything ready and since I have a sister that I am really close to, I had told her about it all and we decided it would be fun to do this together, so Diane met me by the bathroom and we carefully applied the slimy goo to our faces in circular motions, after fighting back a few gags we washed the sticky, slimy, egg whites off our hands and went to our room to relax for ten peaceful minutes.

  "Ooh I can feel it working," I said excitedly.

  " Oh I know, and I hope we look really pretty and our faces smooth" agreed Diane.

   Once the timer rang we  hurried to wash our faces with the recommended "warm" water. We giggled excitedly then scurried to the bathroom to look at our faces in the mirror, after one look we turned to face each other and both screamed in horror, our faces were completely red, blotchy, and puffy.

  "Oh my goodness tomorrow is church" I squeaked frantically.

  " We need to hide, we can't be seen" Diane said while tugging at certain parts of her face.

   We decided that would be the basement. We were hoping it would wear off if we waited long enough, so after playing various games, like hopscotch and jump rope for about an hour we crept upstairs to look at our faces again.

  "I look horrid" I whispered hopelessly.

  "So do I" Diane said encouragingly.

  After looking at each other again we burst into gales of laughter, pointing and laughing at each other we walked into the living room and started laughing again since somehow everyone was sitting in there reading and immediately looked up at us. Of course their feeble attempts to cheer us up were marred by the fact that they had to laugh every time they looked at us.

  So that is why you should never trust Pinterest with your face, that is unless you think this whole experience would be an absolutely marvelous bonding experiment for you and your sister, friend, or Mother.