It has come to my notice that none of you seem to be leaving any comments, so I have decided to take matters into my own hands. I have been looking at various blogs, and have noticed that people usually leave a polite little note requesting comments, but it usually doesn't seem to work. I mean, I never leave a comment at those sites. So, with this valuable information, I have decided to take evasive action. I will scare you into leaving a comment. If any of you unsuspecting little cheerful people happen upon my blog and don't leave a comment, you will suffer the grissly consequenses.......(a pause for dramatic effect)........you will find what will happen to someone if you don't leave a comment in the castle of UGHHH! Just kidding. If you don't leave a comment, in the dead of night, I will slip into your closet and hide among your many fluffy boas and sparkly pink tutus. Then, as you sleep unsuspectingly, I will leap out of the closet, throw you over my cloaked shoulder and transport you to my barn. I will then hang you by your short, stubby thumbs, and let my goats nibble your toes. That tickles, you know, and being tickled for all eternity sounds like a pretty good punishment for one duncical enough to commit the crime of nocommentleaving. I think I deserve an appreciative round of applause  for the invention of this ingenius plan. Thank you, thank you, you all flatter me so. Remember to leave a comment.

Bryanna The Scheming Maniac

Under The Fluffy Boa

Your Closet

P.S. Don't forget about that comment.

P.P.S. Remember the comment.

P.P.P.S. Leaving comments is good for your blood preasure.

P.P.P.P.S. Leaving comments will help you live longer.           

      Greetings! It may have come to your attention that I haven't written in a while. My excuse? I fell of the face of the earth. No it's true. I was skipping through this large field of daisies,  perfectly care free and innocent, when suddenly this great horned beast jumped out at me. I had stepped on his tail you see, and beasts hate that, especially the horned kind. Beasts also have trouble forgiving people for stepping on their tails, as I soon found out. I tried to explain myself, but the beast was too angry to hear reason. He flung me over his hairy shoulder and flung me off the face of the earth. It's a good excuse, and quite original at that.

       I have been very busy today. First, I stripped my horse's stall. This is a very unpleasant task. It's not unpleasant because it's disgusting, it's unpleasant because it's difficult and boring at the same time. Stall stripping is difficult because of the weight of the spoiled hay you are attempting to strip. Those of you with experience in stall stripping will know exactly what I mean. Horse waste is heavy, just like every other thing about horses. Plus horses, or at least my horse, have trouble staying still. This is a bad thing because heavy horses that are constantly stepping on heavy hay make the already heavy hay even more heavy. Despite the cons of stall stripping, there is one very large pro: There is no nicer sight than that of a horse head stuck over the gate of a clean stall. This sight lets you know that your toil was well worth it. 

        I then tackled the "Extreme Makeover Horse Addition". This is simply the extreme makeover of my horse. To truly understand what I'm talking about, you have to imagine the most disgusting horse you can without swooning. This is my horse. Champ is a rather old horse, and I think he is beginning to realize this. He's kind of going through a late life crisis, but without the convertibles. I think that in the horse world, being filthy is cool. Maybe, when Champ got this month's issue of "It's A Horse's Life" magazine, he happened to read an article entitled, "Ditch the Pretty Pony Look, Go For Some Hard Core Style. As Champ read anxiously on, he discovered his true look: The Hard Core Horse. If this is actually true, Champ is the most hard core horse to ever trot on American soil.

       I then cleaned my room. I think my room was starting to go rather hard core as well, but I soon put it in order. I tidied and vaccumed and dusted, which took a bit longer than I had expected. It was time to do the barn chores by the time I was finished, which meant that I couldn't work on my record books like I had planned. I guess I can work on them tommorrow. They have to be finished for Monday, which is the day they're due. I hope I can have some time to relax this weekend, because this school week will be very busy. We're finally starting Ancient Greece. Ancient Egypt's great and all, but I'm ready to move on.

       So, you have just been transported through a day in the life of Bryanna Lindberg. Tune in next time for a report on why not to bring goats into nursing homes. I will be bringing my sister's goat to a nursing home on Monday, and something's bound to go wrong, so I'm sure you'll all be anxiously awaiting the juicy details of the situation. Remember to drink your goat milk and pet your horse. Toodles.                        

       "Anne of Green Gables" is now officially finished. We had our last perforance last night. It was great, the audience was so responsive, and they actually laughed at the jokes. The people in Independence just kind of stared glumly, and maybe chuckled when I whacked Gilbert. The people in Sparta roared. I find I do so much better when people are actually enjoying themselves. I love to stand there and make them laugh or cry. I really love acting. I always feel my fullest when I'm on stage in front of an audience whose hanging on your every word. It's a wonderful feeling. The intermission snacks were great too. There was fudge, toffee, those little stick things with the cream in the middle, cookies, nuts and apple cider. That part was great too. There were a lot of people I knew there, which was also nice. It was really just a great time. I made Mrs. Lynde laugh really hard during a serious part. I was just sitting on my bended knee, hands clasped as I begged with her to forgive me. I had my most pleading face on, and she just started laughing. At first she tried to hide it, but eventually she couldn't hold it in any longer. I think the audience liked that more than if she had kept a straight face. 

       I'd like to audition for "The Wizard of Oz" in January. It's down at a playhouse in Mount Airy. I watched one of thier auditions, so I know what to expect. I think I'd like to be either Dorothy or the Wicked Witch. I've been practicing my Wicked Witch voice, and whenever I show it to people, they stare at me as if I'm mutilated. My face does get a little disfigured when I do my voice though, so I guess I can understand their surprise. I'm also going to practice "Somewhere Over the Rainbow", but that's no were near as much fun as melting. I think I'm just the Wicked Witch type.       

       Finally, after months of anxious waiting, my experimental wish was granted. I got to sleep in the bathtub! It sounds primitive and uncomfortable, but it is actually quite enjoyable. True, if you have legs as long as mine, you can get a little cramped, but after about two hours, all that reminds you of the fact that you actually have legs attached to your torso slowly vanishes, and you can toss and turn in absolute peace. It really isn't that bad. After cleaning and drying the bathtub, I placed a rug in the bottom to sop up excess moisture. I then placed a thick wool afgan and every pillow I possesed on the tub bottom and slid into my new bed. Daddy said I wouldn't last the night. I saw that as a taunt, and I hate to be taunted. I also hate to be proved wrong, so I knew then and there that I would sleep in that bathtub or perish bravely in the attempt. Well, I did it, even though I didn't exactly sleep. In my defense, we have an extremely tiny tub. 

       The first performance of "Anne of Green Gables" is on Monday. I'm Anne. I really don't look a thing like her. I have short blond hair and even though I do have some freckles on my nose, you can't see them from far away. I am extremely dramatic like she is though.  The production is a Reader's Theatre which means we get to carry our scripts around with us. I appreciate that, because I have a lot of lines. I love some of the things I get to do. First I get to scream at Mrs. Lynde for insulting my looks, then I apologize on bended knee. I also get to hit Gilbert over the head with my script. I was actually not told to hit Ben at all, but as I screamed "How dare you", I remembered all of the things Ben had ever said about my playing classical guitar instead of the Bluegrass he loves so much. I couldn't resist. The script came crashing down on his head before I could stop myself. He looked at me with absolute horror, and I couldn't help but start laughing. He certainly hadn't been expecting that, and neither had anyone else. It's now apart of the play though, much to my pleasure. I now get revenge every time Ben says "carrots". He's not even tall enough to pull on my braids, so I hope we can find someone who's at least almost the same height as I am. Teenage boys just don't like to do this sort of thing though, which is a shame. If we don't have someone extremely soon, Ben will be the now very small Gilbert. Oh well.                     

       Well, when I put down that this blog would be about the things I am discovering, I wasn't kidding. I didn't put "and what I am discovering" as a mere artistic impulse, I put it there because I really do discover numerous things about myself daily. I then have to inform the unfortunate public about the latest "Bryanna discovery". So, when I posted my "Thanksgiving Thankfuls", I forget to check the font size, even though I told myself I should. The result: a perfectionist nightmare. Now I knew I was a perfectionist, but I never really concieved the boundry of my perfectionist being, until that fateful click. Don't even try to imagine what a collosal perfectionist I am. It would take you hundreds of years to really understand my intermost perfectionist yearnings. I had no rest until all of the font sizes matched exactly. But, if you will note, I did discover the secret of editing entries after you have posted them, and am now immensly more content with my exsistence.

       I baked two beautiful pecan pies today. The crust was extra flaky, which is a good thing for the consumer, but a horrible thing for the transporter. I sampled a small piece of crust, but upon beholding how incomplete a pie is without even the smallest piece of crust (perfectionist again), I had to twist a bit of dough to take it's place. I'll have to give myself that piece tomorrow so no one will be suspicious. I then helped Ricky and Sarah bake an apple crisp to bring to thier grandparents tomorrow. They can bring one of the pecan pies too. It'll be nice for them to have Thanksgiving with their own family, and it will be nice for us to have Thanksgiving with our own family too. We're going to have a small Thanksgiving with Nana this year. The rest of our family deserted us. They all give good reasons, but I suspect that their harboring secret grudges against us and our superior cooking. Maybe they're jealous. We always have a big Thaksgiving, with tons of relatives, but this year Uncle Brad and Aunt Regina are in Texas, Grammy and Grandpa are going to Missouri (can you believe it, Missouri) and Uncle Joe is staying in Connecticut. Yep, we're abandoned. It doesn't feel like Thanksgiving. Mama isn't stressed about how filthy the house is, we're not pulling out every table we ever thought we possesed and covering them with our miss-matched tablecloths and we're only going to bake three pies. I think everyone's enjoying the break. I am too, but I will miss Grammy's ham and Snickers fudge. Well, enjoy your turkey.              

1. I am thankful for a savior who died for my sins

2. I am thankful for my beautiful home in the Blue Ridge Mountains

3. I am thankful for my mother who works so hard to keep up with all of us five kids

4. I am thankful for my extremely unselfish father, who works hard for my comfort and happiness

5. I am thankful for the comforting idea of all the food I'll get to eat tomorrow

6. I am thankful for my loving horse, who tries hard to pretend that he doesn't like his ears scratched

7. I am thankful for my thoughtful little brother, who just threatened to hurt me if I didn't let him do my chores

8. I am thankful for my little sister, who gives me lots of hugs

9. I am thankful for my foster brother and foster sister, who say I make the best pies

10. I am the most thankful for the considerate, loving atmosphere of my home     

       I am holding a very small chick in my hands. We incubated twelve chicken eggs and only five of them hatched. The little one I'm holding was the very last to hatch, and he already has that "youngest" personality. He's so noisy, and I have a feeling that he's shouting some very rude things at me in chickeneese. He still has trouble walking, so he kind of waddles along, and I think his head is to heavy for him. He drags it along with him as he waddles on his short chicken legs. The other chicks have already noticed that he's wierd, and that he won't be quiet unless they peck him, which they do with a great bit of enthusiasam. I don't feel sorry for him, he really is a brat. The youngest always gets away with so much more than anyone else. They know it too. You should see my little sister go through her "I'm the cutest thing in the world" routine. It's so convincing it's kind of scary. I'm the oldest, so I never get away with anything. Poor me. I'm supposed to be all responsible, which can be a little tiring. But I think I'd stink at trying to be cute, so I'm stuck.                  

       Salutations! My name is Bryanna Lindberg. I have just discovered that I am very bad at beginnings. I have already erased this thing three times and had to start over. For some reason, beginnings always leave me whimpering in the dust with a large welt on my forehead. I just want it to sound right. Making it sound right is very important to me. If I could make it sound like Shakespeare or a Psalm or Hebrews 11, my intermost perfectionist yearnings would be content and I could blog in peace, but alas those beginnings. 

       It was windy in the Blue Ridge today. I had so much school to do. Two reports, hours of reading  and of course math. I hate math. I have a head that appreciates words, not aggravating numbers. Who cares if decimals are easier to add then improper fractions, why not add some interest to this Pre-Algabra monotony. Do you get what I mean? I got it all done though, every last bit, so I will get to go to the riding stable on Saturday. I volonteered last weekend, and had a swell time. I cleaned a stall, groomed a pony and led some kids around in a circle about five hundred times. My friend Katelyn got a break after the first hundred times, but I was stuck walking in that cursed circle. I listened to a little boy talk about how he rode a cow, found tarantulas in the McDonalds ball pit and the many other things little boys talk about. Have you ever noticed that you can talk to little boys about anything that is unimportant? If you try talking about anything that really matters in this messed-up world you've lost them, but secretly breeding tarantulas in McDonalds ball pits in order to take over the world is quite the interest captivator to their little heads. Strange, isn't it? 

       Anyway, I kept walking in a circle while Katelyn was getting the horses for the guided trail ride that I so desperately wanted to help lead. I kept glancing at the man who ran the place to see if he would tell me I was free, but the uplifting words never came. I was sure that I would be walking in a circle forever, and was just about to fling myself to the ground and moan pitifully, when the people decided it was time to go (hallelujah!). I was told I could help lead the trail ride and was allowed to ride the most beautiful horse in the world! I had triumphed! This week we're going to be giving a trail ride to fifteen boy scouts ages thirteen and up. Can you imagine fifteen boy scouts on horses? Scary.