Saturday, July 31, 2010

Jack Bauer: An Inspiration

     I like Jack Bauer. Many of you know this. Jack Bauer is, in my opinion, the single greatest fictional character ever devised by the mind of man. (In case you are lost, Jack Bauer is the star of a television show called 24, in which he is a government agent who has twenty-four hours to stop terrorist plots and save the country from certain ruin).

     But why, though? Why, I ask myself, do I like Jack Bauer so much? And I answer myself: because he’s the coolest person ever, of course! But what, I continue, exactly is it about Jack that is so insanely fantastic? Is it simply some inexplicable essence of greatness? Or is there something more, a describable character quality or two? The latter, I believe.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

The Poem I Could Not Write

I cannot think of things to write
I’m somehow blocked today
Topics come and subjects go
But they don't seem to stay!

You don’t know how this kills me.
I want to write so bad!
I plead for inspiration
But there’s none here to be had.

The words flit by me, taunting
Just inches out of reach
And I try so hard to grasp them
But they laugh and turn to flee.

It’s sad, this inability.
And frustrating too—
When there’s a poem you want to write
And that you cannot do!

I bite my lip and hem and haw
And think as hard’s I can
Alas for me! It seems that I’m
An uninspired man!

Defeat, at last, claims me its own.
There’s naught for me to say.
Just hang my head and shuffle off
And try another day.

This will come back to haunt me
I know I’ll dream tonight
Of writer’s block I couldn’t break—
The poem I could not write!

~ © Andrea Grace

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

My Grandfather's Books

My grandfather’s books are lined up on the shelf there
I see them, their bindings are rigid and grey
They speak of the past, tell of wars and of rulers
My grandfather loves them and reads every day.

My grandfather’s books do not smile or giggle
They’re serious, stern, and they don’t talk too much.
When they do speak at all the matters are weighty
Politics, battles, and history and such.

My grandfather’s hands grip the covers so firmly
He turns every page with a serious face
He’s reading and learning, knows so much already
Of each president, of each battle, each place.

My grandfather’s books speak of strength and of courage
Like my grandfather there, they aren’t mushy or sweet
They’re hard and abrupt, and they tell you what’s happened
Every word stamped in ink on the printer’s crisp sheet.

My grandfather’s books are so strong, just like he is
I remember his muscles from when I was small
How his strength bowled me over; I smiled and wondered
And was proud of my grandpa so handsome and tall

My grandfather’s books don’t get dusty; he’s neat
And he never is sloppy, untidy or messy
But he does love his grandkids, is happy to see us
And view all us children as his little blessings

I do love my grandpa. And he loves me too.
Though sometimes he’s prickly, severe, kind of gruff
And I know in my mind every time that I see him
That ten thousand hugs simply won’t be enough.

My grandfather’s books… he can’t read them forever
They’ll sit on the shelf getting dusty someday
And I don’t want to think it, but Grandpa will follow
Someday my grandfather will just fade away.

My grandfather’s books; they will know him forever
The same as I will. He’ll be stamped on the page
His fingers won’t be there, but they’ll be remembered
Though my grandfather lived in some previous age

One more hug, one more “Love you!” I’ll give him today
Every time that I smile, I hope that he knows
How much I love him, will know him forever
Even when someday my grandfather goes.

My grandfather’s books someday will be thrown out
Or sold to a thrift store or shop of antiques
But his memory forever will be mine to cherish
And my grandfather’s smile will be mine to keep!

~ © Andrea Grace

Friday, July 16, 2010

To Judge Or Not To Judge?

If that is what it is, then yes. I am guided only by what a thing is.

— Peter Kreeft, The Unaborted Socrates

     I have always been rather perplexed by people who are shocked when you make a negative judgment about someone’s character. They become extremely upset, these people, when you air your convictions about Bill being a bad character. They are appalled. Some of them go into respiratory distress. “You can’t go about making judgments like that!” they cry in consternation. “What gives you the right to make a judgment like that?”

     Well… what gives you the right to make the judgments about Bill that you’re making? Certainly, when you tell me he’s a fine upstanding gent, you are passing judgment on him yourself. Your judgment differs from mine only in that yours is positive and mine is negative.

     But that’s the point. It’s okay to pass judgment if you only say nice things. It’s just downright mean and nasty to point out that Bill is a liar and a manipulator. You can’t pass negative judgments because… well, because that’s how things are. Saying nice things is always going to be better than saying mean things.

     Ah! I think not!

Tuesday, July 13, 2010


     Scott stared hard at his computer screen. He sneezed. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised for his next stroke. He was chatting with his buddy, Jason.

     “ya so 4 dinner tomoro, my mom is makin spageti,” wrote Jason. “U wanna come an we can talk bout the project?”

     Scott frowned. “Certainly,” he typed rapidly. “If, that is, there is no objection on your mother’s part.”

     “no way man she likes for u 2 come an eat all the food it makes her fell good jk lol”

     Scott’s eyes watered, and he sneezed again. “Excellent! We will call it a deal, then.” in He tapped the enter key lightly a few times before pressing it in earnest. His long fingers remained frozen midair as Jason’s next message scrolled across the screen. Scott coughed.

     “gr8 man so wat do u think bout usin blu insted of green?”

     Scott coughed again. He was suddenly very thirsty. “Perhaps,” he typed. His train of thought was violently derailed as he caught sight of Jason’s next message.

     “or may be pink lol”

Saturday, July 10, 2010

The Famous Calvin Story

You've probably all heard the Calvin Story by now, but it's the best story of all time, so here it is once again.
Act I

The Scene: Calvin and Kezi are both sitting on my lap.

Kezi: Oh, look, a horse! Horses are so pretty! I love horses.
Calvin: I love waffles! With syrup. They are tho yummy.

Act II

The Scene: Tali and I are talking. Calvin hovers in the background.

Me: Hey, Tali, is it true your dad hates peppermint?
Tali: Ohh, yeah! One time, there was this mint ice crea--
Calvin: I love puppah! It ith not 'pithy, it ith not. And thaut. I love puppah and thaut. I love them both.

Hee hee hee! I love how Calvin hears "love" and his first thought is "Waffles!"
And pepper.
And salt. It is not spicy.

A hilarious child, most definitely... :-)

Friday, July 9, 2010

The Value of Trust

Rupert Baxter stared hard at them through his rimless spectacles. In assuming that he suspected them, Lord Ickenham had guessed absolutely correctly. But he needn’t have wondered what had given them away. The Efficient Baxter suspected everybody. He did not suspect them of this or that particular crime. He simply suspected them.

— P. G. Wodehouse, Uncle Fred in the Springtime (probably quoted imperfectly, as it is from memory)

     I think good people are far too trusting. There is a deplorable lack of discretion nowadays. People meet someone who seems nice and immediately take him at face value. They trust him as soon as they know him. Well, you might be saying, isn’t that right? Isn’t it kind and loving to think well of people? Surely, your first reaction to any new acquaintance shouldn’t be a black distrust, an immediate suspicion? Shouldn’t you try to like people?

     I don’t think so. I think it’s kind of foolish, actually.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010


(Is it a sin to post two things on the same day? But the first one doesn't really count for anything... so it's okay, right? Right? Ahem! Annnyyyyway, without further ado, I present to you.... this.. um... this thing I wrote.)

     The rain battered the glass windows ferociously. The wind was a ravening, shrieking beast, howling its relentless determination to shake the house to pieces. The clouds, blackly menacing, swirled and boiled ominously. Jagged lightning tore the sky, briefly illuminating the waving prairie grass.

     It was a dark and stormy night.

     Grace Connor wrapped her arms tightly around her knees and stared, wide-eyed, at the savage display of raw power. Her heart beat faster as thunder crashed on her ears, like some giant drum of war. She was safe inside, sitting on the window seat in her bedroom. Silent marvel etched itself on her freckled face. She smiled quietly to herself. This, she was thinking, would be the perfect night to be kidnapped by pirates. Yes… the perfect night…


   So. Big news. I have my own blog now! Stop the presses, I know it's exciting. To business, then: this blog
of mine will just be a collection, I guess, of writings that fall into three categories: random stuff that doesn't make sense, random stuff that does make sense but only because I plagiarized it, and random stuff that includes pictures. So! That takes care of that.
   I'm kind of excited about this. I write too much, anyway, and I may as well put all my junk in one place. The thing to keep in mind is that I am trying to do everything for the glory of my awesome Creator.
   Push out, chickens! And visit often! And don't forget to leave comments and stuff. :-)