Musical debut.

I did it folks, I really did it.

I've been playing the guitar since the 8th grade and, actually, my first musical debut was finger picking The Beatles' "Yesterday" during a Young Women's Achievement Night. I stared at the music the whole time and didn't smile once. Later, I played "Brown Eyed Girl" at a Ward Talent Show. Didn't sing then either. I did con a couple friends into singing for me though, so it's not like I was just up there strumming awkwardly. Not like that at all...

I had a brief stint in a Christmas band but really, that's pretty much the bulk of my public performances until...well, there was karaoke at my friend's going away party a few years ago. I sang "Blue Christmas" in a key that was far too low for my voice. My friend, hiding in a corner behind me, responsible for the "Ooh ooh's" in the background, froze in the spotlight. Really, she just stood there. So I was left alone, cowering in the front while the DJ yelled at me to sing louder. It was a tribute to our friend and we failed miserably.

You can imagine, then, how flatly I declined when I was invited to play at an acoustic night earlier this month.

Flatly, flatly, flatly.

...on further consideration, however, I decided that 1) I should be able to accept what I can currently do without expecting it to be perfect and 2) I shouldn't be afraid to try to be more than I currently am.

So I resigned myself to fearfully facing fear.

There was actually a part of me that felt like once I got up to perform I would be all right. I would realize I knew what I was playing and decide that I didn't care what people thought anyway.

Wrong. I was very, very wrong.

I sat down under icicle lighting, arranged my instrument, and looked out into a vast army of menacing strangers. I made a joke about castanets that nobody understood and promptly broke into a feverish sweat. Then I started playing.

I now present to you my measly efforts: (Please by kind, you're actually watching trauma unfold.)

Next stop: posting videos of solo performances in my bedroom on YouTube.

Island Parkour.

We jumped off the roof. We built a luge run. We sledded behind a 4-wheeler. We played the hot lava game. We fell. We tackled each other. We got covered in snow. We danced. We froze. We yelled a lot...

I can't say it enough.

I love this place.

My nickname.

In the spirit of giving I've decided to clear up an often confusing feature of this blog -- my display name.

When I decided to document my life for the world I thought it would be prudent to write under a semi-false identity -- a pseudonym, a nom de plume...a literary nom de guerre, if you will. A proverbial mask for my civilian identity. As if I were a superhero...who publicizes her superheroic exploits. And I don't think I need to assure you that my exploits are superheroic.

Ahem.

To be more direct, several years ago my parents adopted two boys from Ukraine. I called them The Russians, they pronounced my name Loh-rra and thus a nickname was born. Plus, Lohra Miller ran for District Attorney sealing the form of this nickname forever. Yes, I have a nickname that is merely an alternate spelling of my actual name...what?

Here's a brief video for documentation.

Ho Ho Home.

I am from an out of the way place known as the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. The U.P. The Siberia of the Midwest. Home of "da Yoopers, eh?"

There are a lot of rednecks up here. And trees. And deer. And the largest population of Finnish people. And their accents.

This Christmas my brother invited me to go ice fishing with a couple of his buddies and I felt obligated to go. As a regional experience. I felt ashamed as an official Yooper never having been, you see.

...I don't recommend it.

We sat around for 4 hours in the semi-cold and caught two tiny fish...which might be fine had we been hanging out in a sweet canoe on a pretty, warm pond or in the middle of a lazy river...but probably not even then, actually.

It turns out I don't care for fishing. At all. Surprise, right? I would much rather be doing something else...anything else. Like stunt sledding, for example!

...and by stunt I mostly mean leaping off a sled as it goes off a jump.

Yeah.

It didn't always go so well.

Attempted Superman + leap frog = random awesome times at the Shearer household.

Merry freaking Christmas.

I mean that.

Hypochondriac.

Now, I'm not generally a very dramatic person. Whether you agree or not is irrelevant. I want you to know that what I am about to tell you is not commonplace.

There are times, especially with regard to my physical health, that I default to the most extreme explanation. Random splotch on my face? Skin cancer. Small toes? Oxygen deprivation at birth. Can't run? Asthma. Headaches? Brain tumor. Migraine? Stroke. Except that one was legitimate. What would you think if your arm and half of your face suddenly went numb? That's what I thought.

Anyway, it's kind of a weird anomaly of my personality. Oh, I'm sure there's an explanation -- probably a result of something my parents did to me as a child. Or didn't do. Or maybe it goes back even farther than that...

My dad was out here this week. My 80-something year old grandmother, Gigi, had been staying with my family for a few months and it was time to bring her back home. We were sitting around my aunt's living room chatting when my uncle received news of someone who passed away. Lou Gehrig's disease. A degenerative nerve disorder. Almost as an aside, a quiet thought out loud, my grandma said, "Well...there's something wrong with my nerves..."

And...it may not be funny to you but I laughed so hard I cried. It was the most...ridiculous statement. As if someone somehow missed the fact that she had a progressive and fatal neurodegenerative disease. "Whoa! How'd you get THAT?!"

There she is.

Gigi, thank you for helping me become the woman I am today. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm feeling a little fatigued...I think I have mono.