My answers are simple: Yes, Yes, and because I read it in a book.

When I was in my early elementary years, my Social Studies book had a unit on American Indians–and I was absolutely fascinated by it. I spent long hours poring over that book, books from the library, and most especially the article in the Compton’s encyclopedia about American Indians.

I guess I don’t know which “era” particularly I was interested in, but the “American Indian” lifestyle was what I wanted. Of course, I freely mixed between tribes in choosing what I wanted to emulate.

I would have a Hopi dwelling, an adobe pueblo in the cliffs. I’d wear moccasins (I tried rather unsuccessfully to make my own using some brown fabric I’d found in my mother’s stash.) I’d make beaded buckskin clothing and weave beautiful blankets. Of course, I’d eat pemmican. Naturally. I was an old pro at making it with the maple buds that littered our driveway.

In those days, I loved to practice “stealth”, sneaking up on siblings or otherwise like I would on an animal I was hunting. I also practiced running like the wind, making endless circles around our darkened church sanctuary while my parents were having Bible study in the fellowship hall.

Later on, pioneer days appealed, fueled by my love of the Little House books and Janette Oke’s “Love Comes Softly” series.

I wanted to build a house from logs found by the crick bed, chink it up with a nice mud plaster. I wanted to stuff a tick with feathers or hay (my romantic ideas didn’t really consider allergies those days). I wanted to kill a chicken and boil it, to sun-dry wild-grown fruit, to make cheese from my own cow’s milk.

Thing is, this particular yen didn’t die.

I don’t yearn for those days anymore (since my romantic view has tarnished somewhat and realizes that being a pioneer would be HARD work)–but I still want to do all that stuff.

Reality shows were just beginning when I was in high school, and I dreamt of a show that I’d be on that would let me pretend to be a pioneer for a month or a year. (Eventually, I think PBS did create a similar show, but I haven’t seen it.)

Now, as I window shop for houses, my heart is often pulled to those properties with a house that’s not at all a house of my dreams but that has the luxury of 19 acres or 23. A crick. Outbuildings.

I could keep a cow, I think–fresh milk for making cheese. (Yeah right–my family comes from dairymen, and keeping dairy cattle is seriously hard work.) I could heat my home with wood I “make” myself (as my family calls it when they ask my grandparents if they can come up to “make wood”.) I could grow everything I need to live on, keep bees for honey, maybe get sheep and take up weaving.

Never mind that keeping such a home would be a full-time occupation for more than one person–and that it’d probably leave little for paying the infernal property taxes. It’s still a pet dream of mine–to escape into back-to-the-land pioneering.

Of course, I have to make a living, so these imaginings stay in the realm of imagination. But this year I have a plan to do some of my pet projects. I have a friend who keeps chickens and I plan to buy one. I have some whipping cream ready to be churned to butter. I have recipes for cheese and some rennet stored up. I’m gonna be a pioneer some day, you just wait and see.

Were you enamored with another era as a child? Is there a time in history you thought it would have been fascinating to live in? Why?

Dodsworth in Rome by Tim Egan is like a remarkably muted Amelia Bedelia. Dodsworth and “the duck” arrive in Rome. Dodsworth announces their destination: “Rome!” So the duck begins to roam.

The two visit the famous sights of Rome on a motor scooter, the duck with his eyes tightly shut (riding on a motor scooter can be rather scary, you know). They visit the Sistine Chapel–and the duck tries painting a duck on the ceiling. They visit a flea market, where the duck warily watches out for fleas.

Things happen. The duck is mildly amusing. The book overall is rather boring.

I don’t think it’s the book’s fault so much as the genre’s.

Frog and Friends is slightly more interesting–each chapter acts as a discrete story, similar to a story one might find on the typical picture book shelf.

Frog and his friends find a balloon and try to figure out what kind of animal it is. They grab ahold of its tail and get the surprise of their life when a gust of wind sends them sailing through the air aloft–until the balloon pops. They give the pieces a decent burial, sadly realizing that they will never know what the THING was.

In the next story, frog is gifted a scarf that he immediately pronounces as “perfect”. When he discovers that it’s not so perfect, he regifts it to someone else, who also announces it perfect only to find that it’s not. The regifting continues until frog gets it back. This time, the gifter provides some scarf-tying assistance and the scarf is at last deemed perfect–and truly is.

Finally, a hippo runs away from the zoo and decides to hang out in frog’s pond for the rest of his life–something frog’s not so sure about. How can frog show hospitality while still convincing the hippo that maybe he doesn’t want to stay quite so long?

The individual stories that made up Frog and Friends are cute, while not particularly spectacular. But I rather suppose that’s how it is with Easy Readers.

The mercy, I suppose, is that these readers are supposed to be able to be read independently–so as long as your child can do it on your own, you won’t have to put up with it too long. Even so, I hope every child makes it quickly through this stage and on to books with actual plots.

If you’re like me, you’d answer that question in the vaguest of terms: “Isn’t she the environmentalist… likes monkeys… kind of homely?” (And now you’ve discovered my sad secret: I judge famous people by their looks–or at least classify them by their looks.)

Me…Jane by Patrick McDonnell doesn’t give that much information about Jane, but it’s enough to get a child interested, I think.

This picture book tells of the young Jane and her stuffed chimpanzee Jubilee. Jane loves to be outdoors and wants to learn everything she can about plants and animals.

She dreams of someday going to Africa, where she’d live with and help the animals.

Each double-page spread contains only a few lines of print on one side of the page and a softly colored illustration on the opposite side–until the last page.

“At night Jane would tuck Jubilee into bed, say her prayers, and fall asleep…
to awake one day…
to her dream come true.

The final page, with that final line on it, bears a photograph of the grown-up Jane holding hands with a chimpanzee in Africa.

The second Fiction Picture Book Finalist I read couldn’t be more different than the first.

Where Me…Jane has muted colors, Press Here by Henre Tollet has bold colors. Where Me…Jane is written in past tense, with little action, Press Here is written in present imperative.

The picture: A bright yellow dot in the center of the first page. The imperative: “Press Here and Turn the Page.”

One dot turns to two.

Press again, the next page has three yellow dots. Rub the dot on the left and it turns red.

In this high tech world where children play on iPads before they’re potty-trained, Press Here is a delightful bit of magic.

With nothing more than pages and dots, Tullet creates a world of interactive fun.

But unlike with the iPad, this book lets kids see the mechanism–and be the mechanism. This is to the iPad what a flip-book is to cartoons–and (in my semi-Neo-Luddite mind) is ten times better than any “technological marvel.”

Press Here has advantages beyond its novel concept, though. The primary-colored dots overlap to form secondary colored segments (like a Venn diagram, anyone?) The instructions help the child learn right and left (they can tell they picked the wrong side if the colored dots move in the wrong direction). At least one spread allows kids to do some trouble-shooting with pattern recognition (which dots are out of order?)

Mothers will delight in sharing this little book with their children–and will find endless ways of turning the simple text and even simpler graphics into learning opportunities for their preschoolers.

So far, Breadcrumbs by Anne Ursu has completely stolen my affections. It’s fantastic.

“She stood looking at the line of trees that demarcated the woods as clearly as any doorway. Uncle Martin was right. She knew it at that moments. There were secrets, and there were witches in white, and somewhere there was Jack.

She wished he were with her now.

Hazel had read enough books to know that a line like this one is the line down which your life breaks in two. And you have to think very carefully about whether you want to cross it, because once you do it’s very hard to get back to the world you left behind. And sometimes you break a barrier that no one knew existed, and then everything you knew before crossing the line is gone.

But sometimes you have a friend to rescue. and so you take a deep breath and then step over the line and into the darkness ahead.”

~Breadcrumbs by Anne Ursu

Have you met one of those lines, a line where life breaks in two?

Will you step into the uncomfortable to go on a mission trip? Will you break off that relationship you know you shouldn’t be in? Will you venture into an unknown city? Will you give up your most cherished dreams?

You stand at the line, indecisive, knowing that what you decide will change your life.

Behind lies comfort, life as it’s always been. Predictability. Safety. Concrete reality.

In front lie only questions.

Will you go?

Will you risk having your life broken in two?

I’ve stood at the line many a time. Will I go? Will I venture? Will I enter the unknown?

Sometimes you have a friend to rescue–or sometimes you realize that the friend beckoning on the other end wants to rescue you.

So you take a deep breath and then step over the line and into the darkness ahead.

What are some of the lines you’ve stepped over–and why did you cross them?

Don’t forget to take a look at Barbara H’s meme “The Week in Words”, where bloggers collect quotes they’ve read throughout the week–and Amy’s Armchair Cybils where we’re reading Cybils nominees.

114. Wear a Gibson Roll
115. Wear my white hat with a bow
116. Teach Amos and Obadiah
117. Clean my toiletry holder
118. Clean and organize my linen closet
119. Clean and organize my vanity
120. Make Buffalo Chicken Pizza (Conclusion? Hot but good.)
121. Make Ooey Gooey Caramel Pumpkin Blondies (Majorly delish.)
122. Make a paper heart chain
123. Send Kayteeeee a birthday card
124. Send Mom a birthday card
125. Text with my brother Tim
126. Sew with G
127. Make an item for my Anne collection
128. Facebook Chat with my sister Grace
129. Read a chapter of Proverbs a day for 31 days
130. Listen to Straight Thinking Podcast #146-The Problem of Doubt #1
131. Listen to Straight Thinking Podcast #147-The Problem of Doubt #2
132. Participate in the L.M. Montgomery Reading Challenge
133. Host a blog giveaway
134. Write a Flashback post about getting my ears pierced
135. Close children’s picture book author Maribeth Boelts
136. Close children’s picture book author Paulette Bogan
137. Close children’s picture book author Ellen Bogart
138. Close children’s picture book author Gary Bogue
139. Close children’s picture book author Susi Bohdal
140. Close children’s picture book author Max Bollinger
141. Listen to Science News Flash: Sudden Emergence of Bipedalism (July 21, 2011)
142. Listen to Science News Flash: Ancient Biblical Cities Unearthed (July 22, 2011)
143. Listen to Science News Flash: 2012 Doomsday? Believers in Mysterious Planet Nibiru, Comet Elenin Await Earth’s End (July 27, 2011)
144. Listen to Science News Flash: Extrasolar Planet is Darkest Ever Seen (Aug 15, 2011)
145. Listen to Science News Flash: Is Our Universe One of Many? (Aug 17, 2011)
146. Poke Grace (literally)
147. Catch a snowflake on my tongue

Catching a snowflake on my tongue

If I remember right, Anna and I didn’t have an official “age” for when we could get our ears pierced; but our cousin, who is seven months old than me and seven months younger than Anna, did.

Ariann could get her ears pierced when she turned eight.

So Anna and I did too (I think).

I don’t remember, actually, whether we each got our ears pierced on our respective eighth birthdays or whether we both got our ears pierced on the same day sometime in the general vicinity of one or the other of our eighth’s.

I do remember though, the events that took place shortly after getting my ears pierced around age eight.

I was standing up in the dining room, probably clowning around, talking with Anna, who was draped over a dining room chair coo-cocky. Her leg was over the chair, her bare foot making circles in the air.

Whether she initiated it or I did, I do not know, but somehow her toes got caught in my brand new earrings–and pulled.

A little rip in the ear and having earrings wasn’t quite so fun.

I dealt with the crust and goo and pus and infection for a while, but finally gave up on the matter, taking out the studs and not replacing them.

It was a rather short-lived adventure.

Every so often, for a special event, I’d stick a needle through my ear–open it up just enough to wear earrings for a night. But those times were few and far between, and always ended with another bought of painful infection.

I let them close up for good and rarely thought twice of it.

Until I decided I wanted to try to do 2012 things in 2012.

I figured, why not?

So Ruth and I read a few WikiHow articles.

I turned down my sister’s offer of Lidocaine, smeared Anbesol on my ear, numbed it with an ice cube for good measure.

Ruth sterilized the needle with a lighter, dropped it in a rubbing alcohol bath, put on gloves over her washed hands.

I prepared the potato and held it to the back of my ear. Ruth found the trace remnant of my previous holes and pushed the needle through the scar tissue into the potato.

I grabbed the needle from behind while Ruth extricated a stud from the alcohol bath. I removed the needle as slowly as I could, pulling it all the way through the back rather than returning the now-contaminated needle through the hole again. Ruth followed my extrication as carefully as she could with the stud. We anchored the stud in place with the earring back, and turned to the second ear.

It was relatively quick, painless, inexpensive, and rather a priceless experience.

Best of all?

A week and a half out, my ears aren’t flaming red, aren’t seeping pus, and aren’t painful to touch.

Instead, when I look in the mirror, I smile at my gorgeous new earrings, and thank Ruth for joining me in my 2012 adventure!

So here’s tomorrow’s question:

Have you ever had your ears pierced? Where did you go to do it? Who went with you? What were the first earrings you bought yourself after you had this done?

It reminds us of our frailty, of the finiteness of our strength and vigor. It makes some of us fear growing old, others laugh about what kind of a cantankerous old person will be, still others eager for their own twilight years.

I know it has made me think both of the blessedness of my current youth–and my determination to be thankful and content both now and when my youth is gone.

Because there’s nothing worse than being unthankful for a gift when you have it only to be bitter once the gift is gone.

This week I’m thankful…

…for eyes that can see the subtitles on my tv screen.

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times. If I couldn’t read, I would be lost. But even should God take my eyesight (and I rather expect that, given my lineage of eye disorders), I will still choose to be thankful

…for ears that can hear the podcast being played from my MP3 player.

I’ve been storing up comments on what I’ve been listening to, intending to someday write posts on items as diverse as the laws of physics, Blaise Pascal’s wager, and dichotomy vs. trichotomy–all sparked by podcasts. I’m so thankful for how my ears have awakened my brain–and kept me awake–on my drives home after dark. But even should God take my hearing, I am thankful that there is a still small voice that can be heard without human ears.

…for a tongue that tastes the spicy heat of Buffalo Chicken Pizza and the sweetness of Ooey-Gooey Caramel Pumpkin Blondie Thingies.

One’s sense of taste diminishes as one ages. As one old lady told me today “It has no flavor and it’s too spicy.” I hated to tell her that the change in her perception of the food over the past three years probably hasn’t been as much about the food as it has been about her taste-buds. Yet even when my taste buds fail, I will be thankful that I can still taste and see that the Lord is good.

…for arms that can reach and bend and lift

I carry what seems like a half dozen bags, between my purse and my “travel bag” and my briefcase and sometimes a bag of books or whatnot. I’m so thankful that my (admittedly weak) arms have the strength to manage my daily activities. But even when my arms fail, I am thankful that there is One whose arms never fail, who holds me there in His unfailing arms.

…for feet that can walk

I’m a walker. I don’t like to talk on the phone if I can just walk down the hall and talk to you face to face. I’d rather not save my steps when carrying charts to a meeting–I’ll take as many trips (heavy-laden) as necessary to avoid having to use a cart. But even youths grow tired and weary. Even young men stumble and fall. But I am thankful that those who wait on the Lord will soar on wings like eagles–even when their legs can no longer hold them.

Here, in the dawn of my life, I will choose to cultivate thankfulness. And someday, when the twilight comes, I pray that I will be thankful in that as well.

The first books that I remember reading independently were Laura Ingalls Wilder’s “Little House” books. I remember passing our blue covered paperbacks back and forth through the thin shaft of light that crept in through the cracked bedroom door after light’s out, dying to see what would happen next–or eager to savor again what I knew was coming.

My favorite books were Farmer Boy and The Long Winter—Farmer Boy for its put-an-ache-in-your-belly descriptions of food and its detailed depictions of day-to-day, mostly-self-sufficient farming; The Long Winter for its tale of perseverance in the face of adversity.

Farmer Boy was probably responsible for my early-teen obsession with back-to-the-land homesteading—an interest that had me checking endless 1970s tomes out of my local library. I studied animal husbandry, gardening, small farm machinery, candlemaking, soap making, fabric weaving. I was ecstatic when my high school organic chemistry class had me dyeing wool with homemade herb-based dyes—just like in Farmer Boy.

One of my favorite games during the height of my “Little House” passion was taken from the title of the first chapter of The Long Winter. “Make hay while the sun shines,” I would proclaim as I hurriedly raked the lawn and bundled up leaves.

Pa and Laura said those words in jest, never knowing how prophetic they would be. I did my personal haying in full awareness of the long winter that was coming.

I dreamed of my full larder being salvation for a needy family, just as Almanzo Wilder’s seed wheat provided food for the starving Ingalls family.

But just because Farmer Boy and The Long Winter were my favorite books didn’t mean I didn’t thoroughly enjoy the others or draw useful bits from each. No, the whole series would come to color my activities, dreams, and plans.

This month, I plan to read through at least Little House in the Big Woods (if not a couple more of the series), sharing my childhood remembrances and my current day realizations as I read. And I plan on doing something from the book.

If I have lists of every item mentioned in the “Anne” books (which I do), I also have lists of every “skill” mentioned in the “Little House” books. Buttermaking. Pig Butchering. Rifle Loading. Onion braiding. Cheesemaking. Jack-frost-picture-playing. If it happened in the Little House books, I have it on my list–and I’ve wanted to do it for practically forever.

I’m not sure which of the many options I’ll take this month. Will I make molasses candy in a frypan of fresh-fallen snow? Will I make butter and color it orange with a carrot? Will I try whittling a whatnot like Pa did? Maybe I’ll make a rag doll or a needle book. Maybe I’ll have my sister-out-law teach me how to play the fiddle. I don’t know–but I’m eager to find out during this Laura Ingalls Wilder Reading Challenge!

I know that L.M. Montgomery has written other things. I’ve read those other things (all that my library owns, at least). But “Anne” will still (and always) be my favorite and the first to pop into my mind when L.M. Montgomery is mentioned.

And so, this year, I read Anne. Anne 1 and Anne 2, otherwise known as Anne of Green Gables and Anne of Avonlea.

I wrote a few posts with quotes as I went:

• On Taking Risks
• Regarding Bedrooms
• On Contentment



And I made one more piece for my small collection of Anne paraphernalia.

This year, though, I’m doing something special. I’m making a second of this lovely carpet bag to share with ONE OF YOU!



That’s right. I’m giving one of these away.

If you want to win, simply post a comment below. I’ll be keeping the comments open until February 10 (because surely I’m not the only one who sometimes takes FOREVER to get around to all the link-ups in a challenge like this!) and will draw a name from among the commenters on the tenth.

So now, get commenting–and get yourself over to Carrie’s L.M. Montgomery Reading Challenge page to see what others did for the challenge!

]]> http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/2012/20120131-8828.htm/feed 5 http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/2012/20120131-8828.htm http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/bekahcubed/~3/17I2lYGVIV8/20120130-8826.htm http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/2012/20120130-8826.htm#comments Mon, 30 Jan 2012 14:42:51 +0000 bekahcubed http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/?p=8826 Have you ever been afraid to pray?

“I turn the pages a my prayer book to see who I got tonight. A few time this week, I thought about maybe putting Miss Skeeter on my list. I’m not real sure why….

The thing is though, if I start praying for Miss Skeeter, I know that conversation gone continue the next time I see her. And the next and the next. Cause that’s the way prayer do. It’s like electricity, it keeps things going.”

~Aibileen, from The Help by Kathryn Stockett

I’ve been scared to pray.

Scared to pray because I know that God will expose my evil intentions. Scared to pray because I know God will judge my unrepentant heart. Scared to pray because I know that God will call me to act.

Prayer is a scary prospect.

It’s coming face to face with the Holy King of the universe.

It changes us. It changes circumstances.

It changes things the way God wants them instead of the way we want them.

It’s absolutely terrifying.

But if prayer is like electricity, an unpraying Christian is like an unplugged lamp–decorative but useless.

Lord, I’m scared, but I’m gonna choose to pray anyway.

---

Don’t forget to take a look at Barbara H’s meme “The Week in Words”, where bloggers collect quotes they’ve read throughout the week.


]]> http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/2012/20120130-8826.htm/feed 4 http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/2012/20120130-8826.htm http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/bekahcubed/~3/aXkOSTh3pUo/20120129-8764.htm http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/2012/20120129-8764.htm#comments Sun, 29 Jan 2012 06:00:36 +0000 bekahcubed http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/?p=8764
• Wear a scarf in a Chain Knot
• Wear an Upside-Down Smokey Eye
• Teach Hosea and Joel
• Become a member of my church
• Make Summer in the Winter cobbler
• Play Skip-bo


First Row: Chain Knotted Scarf (90) and Reverse Smokey Eye (91), New Jewelry Organizer (104)
Second Row: Summer in the Winter Cobbler (94)
96. Listen to Straight Thinking Podcast #142-Did God Create the Universe? Part 3
97. Listen to Straight Thinking Podcast #143-Truthers Steal Al Qaeda’s Thunder
98. Stay overnight at work
99. Survive state survey at Facility #1
100. Listen to Straight Thinking Podcast #144-The Devil’s Weapon #1: Pascal on Indifference
101. Listen to Straight Thinking Podcast #145-The Devil’s Weapon #2: Pascal on Diversion

My ear being pierced (108), My ear once it’s pierced (108)
102. Make Apple Cranberry Oven Pancake
103. Remove The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks from my TBR list
104. Make a new jewelry organizer
105. Remove The Help from my TBR list
106. Watch Courageous
107. Get a flag for in front of the house


First Row: Shelf in Garage (108), Rolled Paper Snowflake (112)
Second Row: Rolled Snowflake Ornaments (113), New Flag (107)
108. Assemble shelving unit for garage
109. Post a “Sleep” themed Flashback
110. Pierce my ears
111. Spend face-to-face time with Anna
112. Make a Rolled Paper Snowflake
113. Make a rolled paper snowflake ornament (Cheating? Probably. But I don’t care.)



]]> http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/2012/20120129-8764.htm/feed 4 http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/2012/20120129-8764.htm http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/bekahcubed/~3/fzgnzriYqoM/20120127-8757.htm http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/2012/20120127-8757.htm#comments Fri, 27 Jan 2012 12:16:58 +0000 bekahcubed http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/?p=8757 Prompt #4: “Where is the most unusual place you’ve slept? Do you sprawl out or curl up when you sleep? Do you snore, talk in your sleep, or sleepwalk?”

How many odd ways have I slept?

Let me count the ways:

1. On the floor of the nursery, not long after falling off the changing table. I couldn’t be awakened. My mom was terrified. Nothing was wrong. I was just tired.
2. In the closet of my childhood bedroom, on top of a foot-thick pile of dirty laundry. I got tired of my sister tickling or kicking me out of our shared full bed–and moved into the closet.
3. On my mom’s swing out back, having fallen asleep with a book in late evening only to be locked out at night.
4. On a bench seat in my parent’s van after having been locked out at night.
5. Draped over the console in my car, taking a catnap halfway through my commute because I’m terrified of falling asleep while driving.
6. On an office floor after a long night of cleaning.
7. In my car with my seat stretched as far back as it would go and a blanket tucked closely around me so I wouldn’t freeze. This was out of desperation after I DID fall asleep while driving.

In normal life, I sleep in a bed, on my right side with my right arm tucked under my head, a thin pillow folded in half (to give it body) between arm and head. If it’s cold (and sometimes if it’s not), I’ll bring my left arm over in front of my face and under my pillow too. My knees are bent and I bring my left leg further over than my right, so that my spine is in a twist–sort of like that one spinal stretch where you’re on your back and your knees are on the side, except my shoulders are perpendicular to the bed, while my pelvis is almost parallel. Someday I’m going to destroy my back sleeping that way, but no matter how hard I try to break myself of the habit, it never lasts.

I’m not a consistent snorer, sleeptalker, or sleepwalker. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t done any of the above.

Apparently I spoke and walked in my sleep on my first trip to Mexico. I have no memory of the event–and my memory of what I was told I did and said is also vague. Sorry.

Less vague is the story of Rebekah the snorer.

Most of my family has nasal allergies of one sort or the other, and snore on one occasion or another. I am no exception. But I’ve never been told that I’m a consistent snorer.

My dad, on the other hand…

As the story goes, my sisters were enjoying a book on the lower level of our bunk-bed, I was sleeping peacefully in the upper level, and my dad was sawing logs in the room above.

I let out a single loud snore.

Dad startled, causing a sudden break in his snoring pattern. The girls heard his sleepy exclamation: “Huh? Wha? What’s that?”

Yep, that’s me. The snorer. Totally waking up the whole house.

Or something.

]]> http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/2012/20120127-8757.htm/feed 1 http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/2012/20120127-8757.htm http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/bekahcubed/~3/CQZVma9zsR0/20120126-8755.htm http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/2012/20120126-8755.htm#comments Fri, 27 Jan 2012 03:54:23 +0000 bekahcubed http://bekahcubed.menterz.com/blog/?p=8755 I’m not going to lie. I’ve had some strange sleeping arrangements this week–and my sleeping habits are all out of whack. Which makes it a perfect time to move from my childhood bedroom to sleep.

Tomorrow’s prompt:

“Where is the most unusual place you’ve slept? Do you sprawl out or curl up when you sleep? Do you snore, talk in your sleep, or sleepwalk?”

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