More Marian Photos

The following are just Marian-ish photos. Thank you Kei!

The Celtic Zucchinis: The Latest to Today's Show

Is it just me, or is this our best one yet?

Attempts at Opera... sort of.

Sometimes, in video-making (we are too un-serious to call it filming) the mess-ups are a million times more humorous than the actual movie. These attempts were first tries on making a video about elevators. The idea was to for us to be trapped. It wasn't the brightest idea.

Eventually, we abandoned these clips, as they were...um... maybe a little too embarrassing, and a little too...unintelligent. Why I am posting these, I wonder? Maybe I need to rethink this. By the way, Lib, please don't kill me for this. (She's the middle girl in the below clip)

Somehow, watching these, all my ambitions to be in The Marriage of Figaro crumble and fade. I don't think I was born to be an opera star.

Living with a whimsical, artistic sister

"Will you go get me a salmonberry leaf?" Bracie asked me one day. I could see she was in the middle of a drawing, so I walked outside, hunted around, plucked a leaf, and brought it to her.

Bracie is the artistic genius of the family. She is an awesome artist. But the "real" person behind her success is moi. Oh yeah. That's right, you heard me. (Just Kidding =D)

A couple of days ago, I walked into the bedroom I share with Bracie. I was immediately confronted by my dear sister: sketchbook in hand, pencil poised.


"Hold still a second. Stand up straighter, will you?" she asked, "Raise your eyebrows blissfully! Tilt your head like-no, no, look that way! Up, higher, higher. Turn towards me a little more. Give me a big smile... WAIT! Clench your jaw! I need to see a pristine, clear jawline. No, keep smiling!"

Contorted into this strange position, I replied, "How in the world do you expect me to smile and clench my jaw at the same time? And what are you drawing?"
"A mermaid!" she responded, " Now stretch your arm out gracefully..."

Yup. That puts me in mind of another mermaid-drawing incident. Lying on my stomach, I sat reading on my bed. Bracie marched into the room, brandishing a scalloped-edged pillow case.
"Ophy, will you do something for me?" Before I could say anything, I found myself with the pillow case on my head. After adjusting it so it looked artistic, Bracie picked up her sketchbook and began to work. "Now, rest your chin in your hands. Straighten your neck..." The drawing was of another mermaid, resting with her tail draped over her head. A scalloped-edged pillow case was as close as she could find for a tail-model.



She doesn't really draw me all the time: I am basically one of these:






Once, Bracie was involved in a sketch of Snow White.We were waiting in the car for Mom to go grocery shopping.
"Will you lean back your seat all the way?"
I obliged.
"Face me. Close your eyes."
Several minutes elapsed.
"Could you please strain the muscles in your neck? And make the veins stick out?"
I was a little surprised. I mean, it's not like the sleeping Snow White was weight-lifting or anything. However, one thing I have gotten to know is that even if an action sounds weird, Bracie makes it look awesome on paper.

Again:

I know, I know this is an old post. But I though I'd re-post it in honor of Bracie's new blog.

You, gentle readers, probably already know that my sister and I possess the lowly and slightly unfortunate vocation of Alpaca Pasture Maintenance. If you didn't know, now you know. So, since as of now, you all know and now I know that you know, I will proceed to describe an incident that happened a couple of weeks ago. I call it, "Death by Alpaca Poop." Keep in mind that this really happened and I only just barely embellished it.

It happens that my dear sister is a bit of a klutz. Don't look at me like that! She would be the one to tell you. And now, explorers of the world wide web, I will now venture to reveal to you a deep dark secret. You may have suspected this; Bracie is not her real name! Her real name is Grace. (Get it? Gracie, and Bracie? IT RHYMES! Bwahahaha! I think I'll kill myself laughing!) She has always deemed the name "Grace" an unfortunate choice for her on the part of her parents because she thinks it is so unsuited to her nature.

Anyway, it all began one rainy afternoon when Bracie and I were raking away at the seeming mountains of Alpaca poop. Every time we filled the big yellow wheelbarrow we would cart it back to the dump pile, taking turns rolling the unwieldy barrow along. At the particular moment in which this story took place, Bracie grasped the handlebars, and began to push the wheelbarrow up the wet, muddy slope. She shoved, but it was stuck! Then, she gave one great, mighty heave,

and slipped in the mud.

Bracie's feet wildly flailed and thrashed. You those cartoons, where a character runs off a cliff without knowing it, looks at the screen while his feet pound away at thin air, says, "Uh oh," and then falls? This was something like that. Anyway, she knelt in the mud, certain that the giant load of alpaca poop which now loomed over her head would fall and smother her at any second. The wheelbarrow slowly tipped back, creaking, groaning, about to crash 100 pounds of Alpaca poop on top of her! Bracie looked up helplessly at the wheelbarrow, towards her imminent death. I could see her eyes growing rounder, and rounder, wider and wider.

Just milliseconds before the load came tumbling down on her in all it's glory, Bracie displayed a superhuman feat of strength. With all that was within her, she whipped her head and torso up above the dastardly doodoo, narrowly missing being smothered by alpaca poop. If you can believe it, the monstrous load barely brushed her chin, neck and nose. She survived! You should of been there. That amazingly executed escape would have had you gazing in admiration at my dirty sister. She was so close to death. I could just see myself having to explain to friends and family, "Yes, poor Bracie came to a horrible end in the form of drowning... ina pile of poop."

You should have seen Bracie wipe the muck off her face with a soiled glove and exclaim, slightly hysterically, "Haha! Near death by alpaca poop! Typical me!"

Looking back on this incident makes me realize just how important family really is. Seeing Bracie dance with death puts life into perspective, and makes me realize that all the business and commotion that we put value on just doesn't matter. In that terrible moment when I saw Bracie kneeling helplessly under the wheelbarrow, I found out how much I love her.

Yeah right. Actually, I was dying laughing while it happened. I just thought that maybe I could squeeze a nice, cheesy inspirational paragraph in here somewhere to make up for the fact that I actually typed the words, "Alpaca Poop."

Note: About the photo: the wheelbarrow in the picture is only half as big as the one in real life.

Flour, Watercolor Paint, and Scarves = Star Wars?

Did you know that I am related to the late Padme Amidala? Here we see her in a Chersilk Scarf as Queen of Naboo.

Okay, maybe not. Everybody say hi to Bracie! Like I said: Flour, Watercolor Paint, and Scarves = Star Wars!

Here's an actual picture:

And here's a video:

Finally, we have Dad's reaction on camera! When first he walked into the room, Bracie asked, "What do you think?"

He replied, "What did you do to your face?"

With a smile, Bracie answered, "I am entering Ophie's Weird is the New Normal contest!"

And Dad said, "You won."

Battle of the Armrest

After fastening our seat belts, swallowing several times, and watching the "Emergency Evacuation Procedures Demonstration" Bracie and I made this video on the flight to Colorado. I can only hope that we didn't irritate the passenger next to us too severely.

Joyeux Anniversaire Bracie!

Happy Birthday to the World's Best Sister! I could never ask for a better sister, and even if I did, I wouldn't be able to find one. We have had so many jolly romps together, gotten in so much mischief together, and gone on so many adventures.
The word "belated" is very, very handy, especially if you are moi. Why? Because this is Bracie's birthday post, and I can think of no more fitting adjective than "belated."

This is a wonderful occasion to be reminded of just how awesome Bracie is.

By the way, if you went to the trouble of counting the candles in the picture, I may candidly tell you that she is not turning 7.

In fact, she turned...

16

Sixteen

seize

die Sechzehn

szesnastka

šestnáct

Sixteen used to be an awfully big number, but I have to say Bracie is settling into sixteen just splendidly.

For her birthday, we went to Pike Place market where we encountered some very strange bathrooms, listened to street musicians, drank coffee, watch fish sail through the air, asked for job applications at said fish stand, tried on prom dresses under the disapproving eye of the clerk, bough tulips and the very strangest, were told by an eccentric gentlemen that if bought his rings, Mom would pay and it would be very easy to catch a boyfriend. (I am sensing we had some differing priorities.)

After Pike Place, we headed to the Seattle Goodwill where we assiduously search for the store's ugliest article of clothing. I declare myself the winner; I found a dress which closely resembled that of a clown's. Its bright pattern consisted of gigantic tomatoes and sliced lemons! The floor length garment also sported a white collar in the style of Sir Walter Raleigh. It wasn't even found in the costume section!

However, hats are off to Bracie, who managed to unearth the most hideous piece of jewelry, without even intending to! First, let me establish that I, 99.3% of the time, agree with her sense of fashion, but this case was unique. This instance started out in the checkout isle. Exhausted, I stood waiting as the cashier slid item after item into bags. Hearing a gasp of rapture and delight, I turned to behold Bracie triumphantly displaying a necklace of putrid brown beads. Even now I cannot describe them. They were simply awful. I tried to break this fact to Bracie gently.

"That is one ugly necklace," I said.

Bracie looked at me. "You don't think they're pretty?"

I shook my head fiercely.

After receiving disparaging remarks from her friend, Bracie turned to her mother, usually her staunchest supporter.

"Do you think they're pretty?"

Mom looked at Bracie and spoke two syllables. "Uh, No." She then, on impulse, took the beads and held them up to the cashier. "Do YOU think they are pretty?"

His answer was quick and sure: "Uh, NO!"

In the end, Bracie didn't purchase the necklace. But she received many lovely presents and we had a jolly time.

It was delightful.

So, here's to many more splendid years for the World's Best Sister!

In which we clean our room

So, today Bracie and I began the systematic dismantling of our room in order to switch bedrooms with my mom and dad. We came across some unnecessary artifacts and decided to dispose of them in a stress relieving, unconventional manner.

As usual, we had way too much fun.

And another guest post from Bracie:

"When shopping at our local Goodwill, I have learned important shopping strategies that help me get the most out of my thrift store experience. Stepping into the store, my first move is towards the skirt section, where I scan the rack for any garments that catch my eye. Few church goers realize how much of my Sunday wardrobe is made up of Goodwill fare, although many may suspect. Having grabbed a flowy skirt or two, a dignified denim, and, more like than not, a ridiculous hippie article to try on, I head toward the jeans section. There the real shopping begins. Resolutely digging into the area that is supposedly my size (Goodwill’s size organizing isn’t the best) I inspect pair after pair of blue jeans, taking out the ones I like the look of until I have a pile roughly the size of a half grown rhododendron! Quickly skimming through the shirts and shorts, I march to the fitting room. Once there, I completely ignore the inscription on the door that reads, “NO MORE THAN THREE ITEMS AT A TIME”, having almost convinced myself that because there is no one else waiting for one of the rooms, it is permissible to take in my 27 garments. My conscience is not quite eased. I make resolutions for better conduct next time. I’m working on it.

Emerging from the fitting room with a few assorted garments that I viewed in a favorable light, I meet up with Ophelia in the book section and we head towards the hats, purses, belts, and other accessories. We deliberate on whether or not to purchase a preposterously wonderful hat that represents the straw one Hornblower wears during his quarantine in the fifth episode, and then glance over the “Household Objects” section. After finding several objects of random interest that Mom persuades us not to buy, we leave household objects, and look into the shoe aisle. Together, Ophelia and I hit the dresses, fabrics, and very ugly vests and sweaters before meeting up with Mom and the kids in the toy aisle.

Mom, by now, has accumulated a large mass of books that everybody should read and toys that have survived the Goodwill processing a pricing experience. Explaining to Mom that we already having such-and-such Imaginex piece, that all the other Bey Blades are broken so we shouldn’t really buy any more, and that I’ve already read “Singing Down the Moon”, Mom’s pile of stuff in the cart decreases quite a bit. In turn, she tells me that I really don’t need a Hornblower straw hat and that I already have a pair of white capris. Nonetheless, we arrive at the cash register with a considerably large amount of loot that we acquired –thanks to my shopping strategies—in a considerably short amount of time.
As well as selling wonderful objects for small amounts of money, shopping at Goodwill can be an excellent source of entertainment. Because our church’s men’s meeting takes place in the DeBusschere living room, the members of the family who do not wish to attend yet, or cannot because they are not men, must find a place to pass the time while the meeting is going on. During this long stretch of time from 7 to 9, Mom decided that we would take a visit to our home-away-from-home, Goodwill, and that we were going to have a little fun. Sauntering into the thrift store, each of us had a mission to find an item for every member of the family that they would pose with in a picture. I chose a homely wooden doll for Ava, ethereal windchimes for Mom, a ruffely, heart shaped Christmas apron for Ophelia and a pillow that had a dog embroidered on it for milo. The pillow stunk. Giles’ object was my crowning achievement, a very realistic looking afro-ish wig that consisted of adorable brunette corkscrew curls! Posing for our picture in the ludicrous outfits we’d picked out for each other, we made quite a sight for puzzled passers-by.

Another time, when joined by our cousin Audrey, Ophelia and I found several ravishing prom dresses and had the shopping experience of a life time trying them on. Undoubtedly, the dress that won the fashion show was a cap-sleeved, knee length one that Ophelia tried on, made of the same materials as raincoats! Whenever we stop by Goodwill, Ophelia and I have made it a tradition to try on the highest high-heels we can find and wear them around the store as normally as we can. Spying an especially attractive pair made out of silver and clear plastic, Ophelia discovered they had heels six inches tall! Despite the fact that it has nauseating air freshener, shopping at Goodwill provides thrifty products and fun family exploits."

The Latest to Today Show #1

This is the first airing of the fantastic new show, "The Latest to Today Show." The Latest to Today Show exists to show you the very latest in music today. Surprise! (Hope you caught the sarcasm there and don't forever write me off as a repetitive writing writer.)
As Seventhhand Serenade: Ophelia
As her voice: Bracie
As the camera crew: Bracie

P.S. This video very well may have a distinct flavor of parody. Bracie heard fragments of this song on the radio and was struck by its... brilliance.

P.P.S. I have plenty more of these episodes up my sleeve, (Featuring New -and- Exciting Artists!) that is, if anyone so desires to see them.

a guest post from bracie...

And now, the moment you haven't really been waiting for but will still enjoy...
A GUEST POST FROM BRACIE!!!


HEELLLLOOOOO!



Will ya'll PLEASE comment. If not for Ophelia, do it for me (I'm looking at you with bambi eyes, right now). PLEASE! Libby, your wonderful commenting efforts have been seen and appreciated (I polish her halo).

Brother Giles just told me I should put a picture on this post, because nobody ever looks at blog posts unless they have pictures. So here are a couple for all you wonderful blog readers--

This is Oliver North.

Here is his lovely and heroic secretary, Fawn Hall. She shredded some important documents at the order of her boss during the Iranscam(aka Cuban Missile Crisis...wait wait wait...not Cuban Missisle Crisis. [Grace feels sheepish and brushes up on her current US History.] ...Iran Contra afffair.)

And these are some random pictures of Disney's Tarzan as a wee babe, with his parents.

I feel so exposed.

I just opened up, for the whole world web web to see, the entire contents of my-gasp!- computar folder labeled "Grace's pictures." My secret life as a computar nerd (not to mention US History geek) is now no longer underground.

Please COMMENT and tell me that my exposure was worthwhile.

Bracie

Typical Bracie

You, gentle readers, probably already know that my sister and I possess the lowly and slightly unfortunate vocation of Alpaca Pasture Maintenance. If you didn't know, now you know. So, since as of now, you all know and now I know that you know, I will proceed to describe an incident that happened a couple of weeks ago. I call it, "Death by Alpaca Poop." Keep in mind that this really happened and I only just barely embellished it.

It happens that my dear sister is a bit of a klutz. Don't look at me like that! She would be the one to tell you. And now, explorers of the world wide web, I will now venture to reveal to you a deep dark secret. You may have suspected this; Bracie is not her real name! Her real name is Grace. (Get it? Gracie, and Bracie? IT RHYMES! Bwahahaha! I think I'll kill myself laughing!) She has always deemed the name "Grace" an unfortunate choice for her on the part of her parents because she thinks it is so unsuited to her nature.

Anyway, it all began one rainy afternoon when Bracie and I were raking away at the seeming mountains of Alpaca poop. Every time we filled the big yellow wheelbarrow we would cart it back to the dump pile, taking turns rolling the unwieldy barrow along. At the particular moment in which this story took place, Bracie grasped the handlebars, and began to push the wheelbarrow up the wet, muddy slope. She shoved, but it was stuck! Then, she gave one great, mighty heave,

and slipped in the mud.

Bracie's feet wildly flailed and thrashed. You those cartoons, where a character runs off a cliff without knowing it, looks at the screen while his feet pound away at thin air, says, "Uh oh," and then falls? This was something like that. Anyway, she knelt in the mud, certain that the giant load of alpaca poop which now loomed over her head would fall and smother her at any second. The wheelbarrow slowly tipped back, creaking, groaning, about to crash 100 pounds of Alpaca poop on top of her! Bracie looked up helplessly at the wheelbarrow, towards her imminent death. I could see her eyes growing rounder, and rounder, wider and wider.

Just milliseconds before the load came tumbling down on her in all it's glory, Bracie displayed a superhuman feat of strength. With all that was within her, she whipped her head and torso up above the dastardly doodoo, narrowly missing being smothered by alpaca poop. If you can believe it, the monstrous load barely brushed her chin, neck and nose. She survived! You should of been there. That amazingly executed escape would have had you gazing in admiration at my dirty sister. She was so close to death. I could just see myself having to explain to friends and family, "Yes, poor Bracie came to a horrible end in the form of drowning... ina pile of poop."

You should have seen Bracie wipe the muck off her face with a soiled glove and exclaim, slightly hysterically, "Haha! Near death by alpaca poop! Typical me!"

Looking back on this incident makes me realize just how important family really is. Seeing Bracie dance with death puts life into perspective, and makes me realize that all the business and commotion that we put value on just doesn't matter. In that terrible moment when I saw Bracie kneeling helplessly under the wheelbarrow, I found out how much I love her.

Yeah right. Actually, I was dying laughing while it happened. I just thought that maybe I could squeeze a nice, cheesy inspirational paragraph in here somewhere to make up for the fact that I actually typed the words, "Alpaca Poop."

Note: About the photo: the wheelbarrow in the picture is only half as big as the one in real life.

Feet.

I hate shoes. I never wear them if I can help it. Bracie and Libby are also staunch supporters of barefeet. I go barefoot until Welfare calls mom, (usually around Feb.) and then I figure it's time to put something on my feet. =D The natural state of barefeet is good for the soul, and besides, you toes look weird if you wear shoes all your life.
Everybody else who hates shoes and loves barefeet raise your hand (comment!). I think I'll start a club and call it, "The Barefeet Club." I would say, "The Barefoot Club," but "barefeet" has a more musical, harmonious ring to it. Applications for membership are now open. I think I'll make a little picture gadget for my side bar that you can copy or something if you'd like to join.

Barefeet Rule!

P.S. As a depressing side note, we might as well go barefoot, because 98.7% of America's shoes are imported.

The TRUTH!

For those of you who haven't realized already...
Asher and Trey aren't really my second cousins. Asher and Trey aren't really Asher and Trey. Asher and Trey don't really exist.

And now the terrible truth comes out:

Asher and Trey are really Ophelia and Bracie.



Yes, folks, it's true. These strapping young gentlemen are actually the talented, clever, beautiful and humble Ophelia and Bracie.



Er, um, wait a minute. Wrong Ophelia and Bracie. These are the ugly stupid Bracie and Ophelia.


That's better. Anyway, aren't you shocked? Actually, probably most of you guessed and thought it was quite hilarious.

THE END

History Lesson

So, as I was irresponsibly blogging, in my own little world, Bracie, who was studying her history book, like a good little cherub, fascinated me with the top fact she derived from her modern U.S. History lesson. She said, out of the blue;

"You know what? Al Gore's wife has ugly knees!"

And so I got up, walked over to her, and I stared at the picture, and I saw that it was true.

The Formal Introduction to Bracie

The name of Bracie has graced this blog before, so I have decided to give you the formal introduction. First, we have the boring interview:

And now, what you have been waiting for; the funny part. This is my beloved sister, starring in a clip that she herself filmed. Quite a feat; filming the movie you star in. Here goes...