Skip to main content


Showing posts from July, 2019

The Month In Which I Tell A Lie and Wear the Same Dress A Lot

Laura  and I have been friends since we were eleven—nearly half of our lives. People always like to notice how different people are and like to ask "how can you be friends!?" But I've always seen our similarities. We may not be the same denomination, but we both love resting on Saturday Sabbath, and we love discussing theology. We love Germany and we like to embrace our naturalness—no makeup for us ;) (And yes my skin and hair sometimes feel awful, especially as July started out. But I still much prefer no makeup and the real me). Laure eloped back in May (something I totally supported her in!) and I finally just got down to "celebrate" with her. Of course, she had to dress up in her wedding dress so we could get a photo together ;) Doesn't my tye-dye look soooo great with her dress? Haha!  Our cars ... we are both very proud of them ;) I captioned this: "Once we were eleven-year-olds who could barely say hi, no we are successful adults who

No More Politics . . . AND I NEED YOUR HELP!!!

"Well, I knew it would happen one day ..." "Keturah has gone and lost her nerve. Or passion. Or mind. Or, possibly, ALL." "NO.  we've lost Keturah." "NO MORE POLITICS? EVER ? How can you live with yourself?" "Whew! I'm relieved." "You're relieved? But politics are people just as breathing is life." "C'mon. Who cares. I always knew she'd cave in and stop writing those silly posts ..." "Eh. Politics are boring. I'd rather not think about what might or might not happen. Yeah, I know. People die when they stop thinking. But at least they can live a few short stress-free moments." "FINALLY!" "So proud of you for shutting up." "Seriously? It took you this long to wake up?" "Please, wake up. We love your politics." "Shh. She's already too egotistical." "Hmm? I didn't say I liked her ... just her post

The Colors Of My Life

It's my twenty-third birthday today.  I've decided to write something less angsty than my posts from previous years.  (I mean, I'm not that angsty anymore, so yeah) Dreams are meant to be learned and lived, not kept inside your head What do you want? This question has always haunted me, especially when my brain isn't busy doing. Sometimes I'll answer myself. Normally I laugh at myself and start doing something again. What do I want? I want to live life. So, that's what I do. Who needs to know all the finer details? They get ironed out after time if you keep going forward. It's good to have goals (I have lots of those). But some desires are only fulfilled by not thinking and simply living fully. Who are you? I am Keturah, and that's defined by both what I do and think. And all of that has its bitter and sweet moments, sometimes at once. Mostly I laugh at the identity question. For a time it did bother me because society said I must know. B

Endings That Are Sunsets: Bittersweet and Satisfying

There isn't a time in my life where I can't remember writing. But writing wasn't always so pleasant. When I was little I was very proud of my handwritten, self-illustrated short stories. But in my early teens . . . I was nearly ashamed of my struggling novels and hid them from all prying eyes. I needed to write stories others could love. But every story I started wandered away into some unknown abyss. Horrible. Dark. Undefinable. Then, in my late teens, writing changed for me after I joined a knitting group. I found a writing community on there, and we were challenged to write a short story from the prompts given. I'd only tried to write novels, never short stories. At least not since I was little. But over the process of this challenge, of writing several short stories, magic found my pen and something clicked for me. I'd been writing to just to write. I wanted a story to tell – but I wasn't telling the stories I knew. All the novels I'd

"Who Am I? Which Am I?"

Our modern world is living under a major crisis, where every youth is searching for their identity and few seem to be succeeding to the full satisfaction. The sad thing is that the majority of people from the past would probably laugh at us. " Why do you care who you are?" They might ask. " What does it matter?" "Easy for you to say," we'd reply. " You don't have to decide what to do with your entire life. It's been decided for you since your great-great grandfather took up from where his father left off. I have choices. Billions of them." We are in a unique, horrible time. Because not only are we searching for who we are and what we should do with all of our lives we also don't want what we do to define us. Because deep down we feel as if we are much more than our chosen careers. The thing is we are both right and wrong about this belief. I explain how work is an integral part of our identity in Work Then Rest . But

Chapter Five: The Book

Susan awoke in her own bed amidst confusion. She didn’t remember falling asleep and she didn’t feel as if she’d slept, though she knew she’d just opened her eyes. The sun mocked her disarray, glaring at her through her window. Susan tried to shift, but her dress tangled around her legs—the same dress she’d worn to the Bryant’s New Year’s party. The waist belt pinched at stomach and the material she thought lovely now itched miserably at her skin. Susan’s eyelashes were heavy with tears and her eyes were sore and swollen. Then Susan remembered. Susan Pevensie’s entire family was all dead and she was all alone. Except for Carl. He must have been the one that brought her to her home and bed, too overcome with grief to have been aware of any of it. She had to see him—maybe ring for him, or something. To at least thank him. But she wished he might come. She couldn’t be alone. Not now. Susan forced herself out of bed. And then she forced herself to change into a more comfortab