Marvellous Madness

To Pippin

2008-02-15T11:22:00.000-08:00

About a month ago, as I packed my things to return to Huntingdon after a long Christmas break, I ran across a Mead notebook-turned journal that I kept in my freshman year of high school. The first thing I'd written in this notebook was a list of silly questions that I'd found in a magazine. Among the questions I answered was, "What would you do if there were ten more hours in every day?" and my answer was this: "I'd probably go crazy. The days are long enough as it is. And when you really can't wait for a certain day to come, you don't want any extra ten hours." Needless to say, now that six years have passed, I no longer feel that way. Sometimes I think that I could be a much more useful and self-actualized human being with a mere half hour attached to the end of each day. But of course, that's not the way it works.
Time marches on faster all the time, and last week, time marched away with Pippin, our family's beloved dachshund. Pippin was far more like a family member than the family pet; we brought him home when I was seven years old, forever ending my fear of dogs and providing me with one of my best childhood friends. Pippin provided us with thirteen years of laughter and memories. I'll never forget the first time he pranced up the stairs in our old house and realized, to his dismay, that he had no idea how to come down again; I'll always remember how much he loved turning over garbage cans in search of tissues, and how sprinkling cayenne pepper in them only caused him to turn them over more often (and of course, to drink more water afterward). I'll always laugh when I think of the time he ran full-speed across our hardwood floor, slipping and sliding all the way, and noticed just a few seconds too late that the door he was running toward was closed.
At a basic level, it seems silly to have gotten so emotional about the passing of an animal, but in actuality, I think it would be inappropriate if I didn't. Pippin was a constant companion for my family and me for over half of my life to this point, and my memories with him outnumber those without him. I'll think of him every time I see a red dog collar, a chewed-up toy, or a patch of warm sunshine lighting up the floor. And I'll know that somewhere in dog heaven, there's a little black dachshund chewing tissues to his heart's content...

You Knew It Was Coming...

2007-09-16T17:39:00.000-07:00

I like to think that, when God made autumn, he thought of me. Not to say that he made it for me and no one else, but just that he knew how much I would love it when I finally made it here. Autumn is a surefire way to lift fallen spirits; let me feel the crisp, cool breeze and smell the freshness on the wind, and any case of the blues is bound to lighten at least a small bit.
I felt the first traces of fall in the air this weekend. I know that I have many more hot days ahead of me before autumn truly arrives, but just knowing that it is coming is enough.

Yes, I'm Posting Again!

2007-08-28T18:27:00.000-07:00

When I was a freshman at Huntingdon, I asked a senior friend which year had been her favorite. After thinking about it for a minute, she told me that she couldn't choose--they had all been so different. I'm finding the same to be true for my college experience; my first and second years were like night and day, and although my third year has just begun, I can already see that it, too, will be something completely new.
Since the beginning of the new year, I've had to adjust to several basic changes in the details of college life: living in a different (and ancient) dorm, adjusting to the concept of community showers, taking different kinds of classes than I have before, and interacting with different co-workers and professors. However, the biggest difference I've noticed so far is in the way I feel. I've passed the halfway point of my undergraduate education. I've completed my basic courses, and I'm getting down to the serious business of studying my major. This is crunch time--I should be studying harder than ever (if that's possible), and taking a serious look at my path after graduation. I have grad schools to consider, career and job options to investigate, and a future to plan. This is the point where things get serious--and unfortunately, it's also the time where I'm starting to feel very tired.
How can I be tired when it's only the second week of classes? I can't seem to concentrate on any of the tasks at hand; I can't even seem to focus on my next step after Huntingdon. More than anything lately, I just want to be done--done with being an RA, done with living a life consumed by studies, done with having to wrestle every day with major life decisions. I could even stand not living alone anymore--even the most independent of us need people sometimes. I guess it's just ingrained into the female brain: I want to live in and take care of my own house (or apartment--I'm not picky), cook my own meals, shower in my own bathroom, sleep in my own bed.
I'm aware of just how backwards this is. I know that, as long as I'm alive, life never stops. I'll never be "done" with anything, and the major decisions will never end. In fact, the life I find myself dreaming of will be even more challenging and tedious at times than the one that's wearing me out now. For one thing, when I graduate, Mom and Dad will no longer be footing the bills. I worry unnecessarily about money as it is; I can't imagine how I'll worry when I actually need to. I'm only 20 years old--I've barely started living--I shouldn't even be thinking about getting tired now.
I really don't want to wish my life away. I should probably just push on through the next two years (undoubtedly, they'll fly by even faster than the last two) and enjoy the anticipation of whatever comes next. And it couldn't hurt to find a new hobby or two in the meantime, just to relieve the restlessness and channel the potential energy that's currently taking the form of impatience. Especially since those seem to be my only real options...

My Most Recent Plan

2007-05-02T22:25:00.000-07:00

I know. I let the entire month of April slip by without so much as a word. I'm a nineteen-year-old college student, so I can't even try to pretend that it's because nothing has happened. But I can't exactly claim to have been constantly busy for the last month and a half, either, so I think I'll skip the excuses altogether and get to the meat of this entry.
College, they say, is a time to discover yourself--to open yourself to new experiences, to discover your passions, and to explore life's endless possibilities. And here, at the end of my sophomore year--the halfway point of my Huntingdon education--I seem to have found myself for the third time in two years. Somehow, since I entered as a freshman, I have managed to move from the English department (the main purpose of which is to study human nature through literature) to the psychology department (which seeks to know why humans behave the way they do), and finally to the biology department (which just asks, "What are these 'human' things, anyway?"). Honestly, I'd love to keep major-hopping until I've given each of them a good shot (I guess I'd even try accounting), but then again, I'd like to be out of here sometime before my 40th birthday, so I guess I'll try to stick with this department.
Most people have asked me what possessed me to drop a relatively easy major--psychology requires some pretty intense papers, but that's about as hard as it gets--for one of the most difficult ones available at Huntingdon. I think I did it simply because it is difficult. Either I love a challenge, or I'm a glutton for punishment (which, according to my abnormal psych class, is called "masochism"). Either way, by my own free will, I will be returning in the fall for what will most likely be my toughest semester yet. Since I decided to start this so late, I'll be completing a four-year major in only two years, and that means four full semesters of nothing but science. I'll go ahead and warn you that if you need me anytime between 1:00 and 3:30, Monday through Thursday, of next semester, you'll be plain out of luck, unless you want to swing by the lab. I'm excited about it, because every one of the classes I'll be taking is intriguing to me, but I know I'm going to wear myself pretty thin. I think one my biggest goals for the semester is not so much to make good grades (as important as that still is) as to try not to complain when the going gets tough. After all, as one of my classmates in freshman math class had scrawled on her notebook, nothing that's truly worth doing is easy...
While I think (or hope) that I've finally settled in with a good, solid course of study, I'm still not exactly sure what it is that I'll be doing with it in the long run. Although I'm giving it serious thought, I'm clinging to the hope that I'm still young enough not to know. I'd love to just hang on and enjoy the ride for as long as possible, and perhaps eventually I'll see the proverbial light and find my place on the path unwinding. Or at least the path of the workplace. The path unwinding will most likely take the rest of my life to figure out...

I Dream of... Dreaming

2007-03-15T14:18:00.000-07:00

I love college, and I know it's always a bad idea to become so focused on your future that you wish away the present. But I really do look forward to a time in my life when I can go to bed at a decent hour. 10:30 would be wonderful. I'd even settle for 11. Just anything other than 1 AM, morning after morning...

Swim, Anyone?

2007-01-27T19:16:00.000-08:00

It occurs to me that there are only four precious days left in the best January I can remember, and I haven't yet recorded the story of my latest unfortunate wintertime incident at the beach. I love spending time at the beach during the colder months, because it's a completely different place without the scalding temperatures and swarms of sunbathers, a place that few have the opportunity to experience. However, misfortune always seems to follow me on these winter excursions. Take what happened a couple of weeks ago, for instance.
My gentleman caller, Alex, is from Kentucky, which is considerably farther from the shore than Dothan, and as a result, he could only claim about three beach trips in his life. I realize that not everyone adores the ocean like I do, but the thought of a 20-year-old having spent so little time there was quite unsettling, so while he was visiting me in Dothan, we set aside a day for his fourth, and best, beach experience.
We couldn't have asked for a better day to be there; the sun was shining, a light breeze was blowing, and the temperature was just warm enough for short sleeves. Immediately, I threw off my jacket and shoes and headed down the beach, dragging Alex with me. We walked down to the old pier, and I was delighted to find that the inlet beyond the pier was open. The water flowing in the inlet was crystal clear and cool, and I strolled along the edge, taking in the sheer bliss of it all. Being the diehard beach lover I am, I'd been wading in the water all morning, and of course, it was just as cold as one would expect in January, so when Alex began to threaten to throw me in, I objected, but without much enthusiasm. I figured that even a Kentucky boy would know better than to throw someone into an ice-cold ocean during the first month of the year. After some playful wrestling, he did manage to push me off the ledge of sand that seperated us from the shore, and having succeeded in that, he jumped down with me and suggested that we head back to the house. I agreed, took his arm, and turned to begin the walk back. Before I knew what was happening, Alex grabbed me, proclaimed in his best Southern Pentacostal voice, "I now baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the--," and that was the last thing I heard before I was chunked right into the inlet, clothes and all.
When I came to the surface and retrieved my sunglasses, which had floated off my head and were headed toward the ocean, I came back to the shore and tried my best to give Alex a taste of his own medicine. But alas, my sopping wet clothes and my lowered body temperature made it more difficult than I'd expected, so I only managed to drag in his bottom half. Finally, we made our peace and started the long, cold trek back to the condo. Of course, as luck would have it, we passed two or three people on the way back, who all had the same puzzled reaction to my saturated state. Alex, who was much drier than I was, greeted each one of them, and in response to their questioning stares, he simply shrugged and said, "She fell in."
You may recall that we had only set aside one day for this trip, and one doesn't normally pack a change of clothes for a day trip. And we hadn't. The sopping wet clothes on my back were the only ones I had, and all we could find in the condo were a pair of men's swim trunks and one scrub shirt. That was bad news for two people who were desperately in need of dry pants, but thanks to the condo's abundance of beach towels, we were able to clothe ourselves and relax while we waited for the dryer to do its work.
As you also have probably noticed, I was not stricken with hypothermia (although I was concerned about that for a little while). In fact, that day did shape up to be one of the best days I've ever spent at the beach, and I have to admit, it just wouldn't have been the same without my beachside baptism. I don't think there's been a day since that happened that I haven't thought about it and laughed...

Wow...

2007-01-10T20:59:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while, I come across something in my reading that is so wonderful that I couldn't possibly say it any better, or even expound upon it, but feel the need to share. Last night's devotional was a prime example. Here's a passage from Oswald Chambers's "My Utmost for His Highest":

"Read Psalm 139. The psalmist implies--'O Lord, You are the God of the early mornings, the God of the late nights, the God of the mountain peaks, and the God of the sea. But, my God, my soul has horizons further away than those of early mornings, deeper darkness than the nights of earth, higher peaks than any mountain peaks, greater depths than any sea in nature. You who are the God of all these, be my God. I cannot reach to the heights or to the depths; there are motives I cannot discover, dreams I cannot realize. My God, search me.'"

What can I say but, "Wow"....

A New Alliance With An Old Nemesis

2007-01-01T19:33:00.000-08:00

I've been doing some thinking about January. For the past couple of years, I've dreaded its arrival and the uncertainty that it always brings. Every unfortunate thing that has ever happened to me in January, I've blamed simply on the month in which it occured. But today, on the first day of 2007, I believe that a change in my attitude is in order.
For one thing, I'm finding it harder and harder to believe that any month could purposely be as cruel as I believed January to be. In fact, by all accounts, January should be the friendliest of all the twelve months--after all, you don't see people worldwide throwing massive parties and staying awake in eager anticipation of the coming of, say, September. We give January such a warm welcome that the least it can do is be decent to us; it couldn't possibly inflict misery and suffering of its own accord.
In addition, I'm one day into January 2007, and I'm already off to a much better start than I was last year and the year before. Last night, New Year's Eve, was delightful compared to those in years past. Although I was at home with my parents, I was there by choice. I wasn't feeling left out and abandoned by friends, and neither was I involved in any gunpowder-related accidents (I'm actually quite proud of that story now, so if you haven't read it, please humor me and click here). Instead, I sat quite contentedly in an armchair in the living room, watching movies and reading an excellent book until midnight, at which time I rang in the new year, had a wonderful (but sleepy) phone conversation with my favorite Huntingdonian, and then slept soundly until I felt like waking up. There's something to be said for a low-key celebration (especially when you're the only one who tones it down: this morning, when Mom and I decided to go on our fifteen-hundredth shopping trip of my vacation, we had the roads and the malls practically to ourselves, due to the fact that the majority of the townsfolk were at home nursing hangovers).
But best of all, I'm beginning the new year with a much more positive outlook than usual. I'm not dealing with any crumbling relationships, I'm working in a job that I actually enjoy (only for a few more days, but still), I'm rested and relaxed after a long break at home, and I'm looking forward to another wonderful semester at Huntingdon. And Seasonal Affective Disorder? No thank you. Even if the weather does decide to get cold again, I'm armed and ready with new scarves, warm socks, and a wool peacoat--gimme all you got. Life is what you make it, and I feel like making it great, even in January. Happy New Year!!

Correction...

2006-12-16T18:02:00.000-08:00

I really don't like to eat my words, but I think it's only right that I go back and retract the statement I made about failing Current Affairs. I didn't. My friends have all either rolled their eyes and said, "I told you you'd do fine!" or declared to never believe another word I say, but I'm so happy to have been wrong that I really don't mind. Hey, it's a good thing I didn't worry about it, since it would all have been for naught, right??

Oh, How I Love Autumn!

2006-11-06T18:10:00.000-08:00

I am a dangerous driver in Montgomery these days. Oh, I wear my seatbelt, obey the speed limit (most of the time), check my blind spot before I merge, all that. But the streets are all lined in trees whose colors are absolutely brilliant at this time of year, and it's becoming a real struggle for me to stay focused on the road instead of gawking at the foliage. This weekend, however, I took a trip to the Shakespeare Festival park, which provided me with ample opportunities to see the wonders of nature without putting myself or other drivers in danger. Here are some of the best shots:

This is, without a doubt, my favorite time of year...

The Beauty of Crashing and Burning

2006-10-24T17:57:00.000-07:00

It is generally assumed that the freshman year of college is the one that holds the biggest changes and adjustments, the one in which you gain your most significant and memorable new experiences. While that's true to a point, life never really stays within boundaries like that; here in my sophomore year, I still find myself doing things I've never done before. For instance, just yesterday, I had an experience that was completely new for me: for the first time in my 15 years (and counting) of schooling, I failed a major test. The exams haven't been graded, I haven't seen my actual score, and only two or three people on campus truly believe me when I say I failed, but there is no doubt in my mind: I flunked spectacularly. As of right now, I am nothing more than a burn mark in Dr. Williams' grade book. This was the first test of the semester; the next will be the final exam. For the first time in my life, I am on the verge of failing a class.

People who know me would expect that, after such an event, I'd be reduced to shambles, wringing my hands and drowning in tears. After all, I am a self-proclaimed nerd, and I always make it a top priority to excel academically. But, somehow, surprisingly, that's not the case.

I feel kind of strange admitting to my blog that I'm not terribly bothered by my recent failure, considering that my parents are faithful readers, and it's another generally accepted truth that parents freak out over academic disasters. But it was my mother who took me outside one night when I was an extremely nervous eleven-year-old gearing up for a big piano competition, pointed to the stars, and said, "See those? They'll still be here tomorrow night." And even though the significance of a college GPA and a junior high piano performance are slightly different, I'm looking out of my window, and, indeed, the stars are twinkling down even now. It's not at all that I don't care, but a calm voice somewhere inside me keeps saying, "Life is bigger than fall semester of your sophomore year, than all of the years you spend in school. It will go on, and you will be all right." And I've decided that that voice is worth listening to.

So I failed one test. So I failed one really crucial test. I'm not happy about it, but what's done is done; getting bogged down won't be of any help to me whatsoever. It's a new day. As I said, I'm a huge nerd. I'll study my brains out for the next few weeks, give the final my very best, and take what I get in the end. I probably won't be on the Dean's list, and I probably won't finish at the top of my class, but I seriously doubt that either one of those things will detract from my happiness in life. I'm convinced that holding my head up high and laughing in the face of misfortune will add to it greatly.

Enter...

2006-10-19T21:29:00.000-07:00

It probably comes as no surprise that one of my favorite courses this semester has been my psychology class, Theories of Personality. It's been a fascinating (though often frightening) experience, full of personal reflection and self-discovery. I've already gained enough exciting knowledge to ramble about for months, but to keep this post short, I'll just share one quote from Christina Baldwin that I found to be extremely blogworthy:
"We create our lives in the stories we tell...stories that impose purpose and meaning on experiences that often seem random and discontinuous; as we scrutinize our own past in the effort to explain ourselves to ourselves, we discover--or invent--consistent motivations, characteristic patterns, fundamental values, a sense of self, fashioned out of memories; our stories become our identities."
If that doesn't describe my writing, I don't know what does. Therefore, I welcome you to my blog--my life, my identity. Make yourself at home.

Dancing Fool...

2006-09-25T18:22:00.000-07:00

It was a big weekend for me in Montgomery, Alabama: on what promised to be a dull night in the dorm, through a strange turn of events, I made my YouTube debut and became an instant celebrity on Huntingdon's campus--they say great things happen all at once, and evidently, the same can be said of things that are just plain absurd.
Around ten o'clock on Saturday night, I faced an unusual dilemma: I was bored out of my mind, and not the slightest bit sleepy. The dorms were practically deserted, due to the travelling of the football team, cheerleaders, and band members (and the fact that half the school leaves on weekends anyway), so I set out to wander the halls in search of amusement. I didn't have to look far--I glanced out of the window at the end of the hall, across the parking lot, and into the windows of the guys' dorm, and saw Mathieu, a fellow RA, in the lobby with his laptop and a videocamera, and from the distance, I thought I could tell that he was also dressed in drag. I know Mathieu well enough to not be shocked or bothered by such a sight, but I was curious to know what inspired him this time, so I decided to head over and check it out.
When I arrived, he was, indeed, clad in a skirt and high heels, filming his own dance routine to Britney Spears' "Overprotected." Now, those who know me are aware that I do not consider myself a dancer--I'll do it if the occasion calls for it, but I would not rank it among my favorite activities. But, to make a long story short, Mathieu decided that he needed backup dancers, and the former camera man and I were appointed. I agreed to this arrangement, knowing fully well that the video would be on the internet before I could say "two left feet," but on an evening such as this one, it was the most exciting offer I was going to get. Besides, I use the word "dance" loosely. Mathieu was clearly the star of the show, so I assumed an aloof, stand-offish posture and spent the majority of the song snapping my fingers and occasionally moving my hips and shoulders--picture Will Smith's character in Hitch. And that was that...or so I thought.
I keep forgetting that, in a community as small as Huntingdon College, everyone knows everything that everyone does. So this video had circulated through the entire student body by this morning, and no fewer than ten people took time out of their day today to either compliment my amazing skills (apparently, being able to snap in rhythm is an impressive feat) or to ask, "Was that really you in that video of Mathieu's?" I had no idea the guy had such a following. Plans are already under way for the next video, and I've been offered a spot. I think this is the start of a beautiful career.
So, would you like me to close by providing a link to said video, the pinnacle of my young adult existence thus far?
Not a chance in the world!!

Another Tale of Terror

2006-09-17T19:11:00.000-07:00

It has been brought to my attention that I may have been a little hasty when dubbing the Burmese Tiger Pit as the pinnacle of my brother's trick-pulling career. True, it was an ingenious idea, and brilliantly executed, but I suppose it is a little unfair to say that it was his best work, especially since he was only about 8 years old when it happened. The earlier ploys are especially appealing to me because of their childish, comic nature (like the time he waited outside the door while I took a bath, wearing a devil mask and carrying a pitchfork, and lunged at me when I came out--I screamed like the little girl I was, threw my dirty clothes in the air, and ran in circles around the bathroom). But, naturally, as he got older, his pranks rose to a new level of cunning and skill. Like I said, picking one event to trump the rest is an impossible task, so I can't even guarantee that the following story is his best, either. However, it is one of his personal favorites, and I must admit again, a brilliant one, so it's only fair that I should tell it.
This story brings us about ten years beyond the time of the tiger pit, to the year that Steven moved out of the house and took up residence in North Carolina, some 500 miles away. I was thoroughly enjoying my newfound "only child" status, and it was thrilling to be able to walk around the house without jumping nervously every time I turned a corner, without having to stay constantly poised and ready to defend myself from some surprise attack. However, as all college students do, Steven came home every once in a while, and when he did, I found that I was less on my guard than I had been in years past.
During one of his visits home, he and I had each spent an evening out with our separate groups of friends, and returned to the house after our parents had gone to bed. I arrived home first, and went about my business, getting ready to turn in for the evening. I'm not really sure why I didn't hear him come in just minutes after I did; normally, I can hear the rumble of his Z28 rounding the corner into the neighborhood, let alone pulling into the driveway. And you would think that I would have heard the back door open and the garage door close. But somehow, I managed to miss all of this completely, and as I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I assumed that I was the only one in the house who was awake. By this point, I was so used to being the only child that I had practically forgotten that Steven would be coming home at all.
With my bedtime ritual completed, I opened the bathroom door to head to my room, but as soon as I did, cold terror shot through my body--a towering, dark figure was staring down at me, arms folded, his face obscured by shadows, and a cruel, deep voice that growled, "Hello there." I was too scared to move. It was a nightmare come true. How could a strange man have snuck into the house behind me? No one had followed me home! I'd locked the door! The dog was at home! A fine job he'd done of protecting the house! And about a thousand more thoughts like these raced through my head during the few seconds that I stood there, petrified.
Suddenly, the mysterious figure laughed. I knew that laugh. In fact, I'd come to associate that laugh with my moments of pain and terror from a very young age. This wasn't an intruder at all; it was my brother, orchestrating one of his least physically painful, yet most cruel and terrifying capers I had ever seen. This is the only instance I can remember in which I wanted to give him a bear hug and beat him senseless, all at the same time. But as I recall, I did neither-- I think I simply collapsed into a puddle on the floor, and listened to him cackle as I reminded myself to breathe. I should have remembered his affinity for hiding outside bathroom doors...

The Burmese Tiger Pit

2006-08-26T14:16:00.000-07:00

It is a well-known fact among my family and our friends that my brother, Steven, and I have not always gotten along. In fact, we had barely even reached the point of tolerating each other when he left home to attend college four years ago. Our fights were of epic proportions; in later years, we learned that we never got the trampoline we put on our wish lists every Christmas, simply because my mother feared that Steven would throw me off of it and break my neck. However, as we grow older, stories of our childhood conflicts become favorites among all who know us. We each recount these stories for our own purposes: I tell them in the hope that my brother will be exposed for the diabolical fiend that he truly is, he tells them to gain respect and awe for his brilliant (and, I admit, often hilarious) pranks, and we often tell them together for the sheer pleasure of making our friends laugh. Although these anecdotes were once a source of humiliation for me, I have grown to love them, and I tell them every chance that I get.

Picking a favorite incident from our massive collection is a daunting task, not only because there are so many to choose from, but also because they’re all spectacular. Although I didn’t enjoy being on the receiving end of all his shenanigans, there was no doubt that Steven was phenomenal at orchestrating his attacks. I’ll never know where he got the idea to corner me in my tiny bathroom, throw in a handful of bouncy balls with all his might, and slam the door, leaving me to cower in terror from what seemed like thousands of dense projectiles bouncing off the walls, floor, and ceiling. I’m still amazed at his ability to sit motionless on the couch next to me for a full hour, and then nail me in the face with a cushion at the exact moment I raise a can of Dr. Pepper to my lips. Even his accidents were magnificent; how could he have possibly known that I would raise my head off of the couch at the exact moment that he hurled a tennis ball across the room, putting my left eye directly into its path? There was no question—this guy was good. But perhaps his most brilliant moment was one of his very first plots: the Burmese tiger pit.

When I was five years old and Steven was eight, our family moved into a brand-new subdivision on the east side of town. Our house was the first to be built, and for several years, we watched other homes spring up all around us. The lots under construction were a kid’s dream come true—there were mounds of glorious white sand, stacks of leftover shingles, piles of scrap wood. Steven would often come home from the lots with his arms full of loot, and his head full of grand designs for wrestling rings and other torture chambers to be built in our backyard. Although I was too young and naïve to realize that most of his plans for his treasures would involve pain and suffering on my part, I still couldn’t get too excited about playing with hammers and nails, so I usually left him alone with them and played my own five-year-old-girl games somewhere else. So one afternoon, when he came into my room and told me he had a surprise for me in the backyard, I had no idea what lay in store for me.

When we walked out the back door, I noticed an area of white sand in a corner of the yard, as well as about ten shingles arranged in a familiar pattern. My darling brother had spent his afternoon building me my very own hopscotch board! I could hardly wait to try it out, and as soon as I found a rock, I ran to the board, tossed it, and began to hop. Oh, it was wonderful—the shingles made blocks just the right size for feet as small as mine, and I was filled with childlike bliss as I hopped across the board, square by square. Suddenly, as I neared the last shingle, I landed a particularly tricky jump, and felt the earth cave in under me. One foot sank deep into the ground, while the rest of my body flailed wildly above, struggling to keep its balance. My top half sprawled across the grass, and my right leg twisted, caught fast in the hole that scoundrel had carefully hidden under square eight. If I had never learned to distrust my brother before, I certainly did on that fateful afternoon.

Apparently, the incident didn’t traumatize me too much. I don’t remember crying or tattling, although Steven would probably insist that I did. Five-year-olds are pretty resilient; I’m sure I bounced back quickly and thought no more of that rotten trick for many years. Although my brother and I had countless fights in the following years (and even now, we butt heads every once in a while), remembering his most glorious victory has always brought a smile to his face and to mine.

It was early in the first semester of my first year in college—my first time away from home, and my first attempt at semi-independence. I was having the time of my life, but my heart still jumped for joy when I opened my mailbox and found an envelope with my name written in my mother’s handwriting. I tore it open and found a card containing three separate greetings—one from my mom, one from my dad, and even a few words from Steven. My heart warmed as I thought of my family back home, and then I noticed a small arrow in the bottom corner, pointing me to the back of the card. I flipped it over, and at the very top, in my brother’s unmistakable scrawl, were three words that sent a smile across my face that spread through my whole body: “Wanna play hopscotch?”

Oh, I'm Sorry, I Didn't Hear You--I Was Having a Heart Attack.

2006-08-22T18:50:00.000-07:00

It hit me like a ton of bricks tonight--I'm taking eight (count 'em--eight) classes this semester. And not just any old "show up, stay awake, and you've got an A" classes--we're talking papers in every class, pages upon pages of outside reading, and because I thought Film Studies sounded like fun, two movies to watch every week, whenever I find some spare time outside of class. I could mention that I also have to find time to balance RA duties, relationships, exercise, rest, and worship, but then I'm afraid I'd be whining. With only two days of classes under my belt, I feel like I'm already at risk of spreading myself a little bit thin. It's too early in the year to be panicking...it only seems overwhelming because it's all new...but I think I'm going to have to take a few minutes to do some deep breathing...

Mine Eyes Have Seen The Glory

2006-08-01T07:05:00.000-07:00

At the very beginning of my blogging career, when I kept my posts at a one-paragraph minimum, I very briefly recounted the story of the most interesting old man I've ever had the privelege to behold. (Most of you have either read the post or have heard me tell the story at least once, but just in case you haven't, click here for a refresher.) I can't be sure, because time has erased from my memory the particulars of his appearance, but I'm almost certain that I saw this man again last week.
I don't remember where I was going, or why, but as I drove along the circle, my eye was caught by the gleam of a brand new set of chrome spin rims glittering on the tires of a shiny black Cadillac Escalade. Escalades aren't my particular taste, and we've all seen spin rims before, so nothing about the car in itself was particularly impressive to me--that is, until I noticed the driver. This gargantuan, ultra-pimp piece of machinery was being operated by none other than an old Caucasian man (70 years old at the very least) in a short-sleeve button-up shirt and a plaid driving cap. And while there are many such men in Dothan and the surrounding areas, I knew this could be no one but my young-at-heart, tap-dancing hero. I've never seen anyone else who takes such great delight in expressing himself, or who seems to enjoy life so much (with the possible exception of Mr. George Fien from Westgate, but I know he wasn't the tap dancer and I'm pretty sure that he doesn't own an Escalade).
So, I have now seen this old man twice, and he has brought me great joy without even knowing it. I really don't know much about him either; I don't know his name, I don't know where he came from, and I can't say for sure that his vivacious behavior can't be attributed to plain old insanity. But I do know that, when I grow old, I hope that I, too, can live my life with the zest and spunk that he has. This man doesn't sit around in his rocking chair all day, dreaming of the past and longing for his distant days of youth. He doesn't need to. He finds his joy in the present, and spreads it wherever he goes. I suppose I should take a lesson from him-- be thankful for the past, and look forward to the future, but don't neglect right now--because right now is all I really have. So if you'll excuse me...life is calling, and I'm going to answer.

Cheese and Wine Are Better with Age, but What About People?

2006-07-10T14:55:00.000-07:00

When I arrived at the Johnsons' house the night of the party, I quickly noticed that something, or someone, was missing. Having been a frequent guest at their home, it didn't take me long to figure out who was absent from the scene: it was none other than Betsy, the family's faithful green Suburban, who had spent her long life hauling family and friends (myself included) all over Dothan and many places beyond. Where she used to sit in the driveway, there was Betsy's replacement: Belle, a white Highlander, shiny, new, and unfamiliar.
Betsy was not the only one who had recently taken leave of the family. As I looked out of the sunroom windows, my eye caught a glimpse of a pile of wood sitting in a trailer in the driveway, and I realized that in the pile were the disassembled pieces of the swingset/jungle gym structure that had stood in their backyard for as long as I could remember.
It doesn't take much to make me wax nostalgic, so, predictably enough, I quickly saw the symbolism of these changes at the Johnsons'. However, I've seen it all around me in the time since I left their house that night. Lately, life seems to be taking every possible opportunity to remind me that I'm getting older.
As soon as I freed myself from captivity at the peanut plant, I began to devote my time to the service of others, and I decided to start with my old youth group. I spent last week in Albany, Georgia, working with the local Habitat for Humanity, and this week, I'm going full-force to help prepare for Youth for Christ, our annual youth rally, which takes place this weekend. I'm glad to have had the opportunity to do all of this, but it's made me realize how much things have changed. I'm technically not even a member of the youth group anymore, and at first I felt a little weird about being a chaperone at workcamp, but when I arrived, I really was the oldest one there. Everyone else my age has also moved on to other things, others have gone to other churches, and I don't even know a lot of the kids who have just started participating. Most of my old companions are gone, and most of the fun has gone with them; I can't describe how incomplete I feel without Chris, Jennifer, and all the others who are missing.
I'm not going to say that I don't want to grow up, because I've finally realized that I actually do. The older I get, the more freedom I have (at least until I get tied down with a husband and kids or something like that). At this point in my life, I really can do whatever I want, and you couldn't pay me to go back to any year in my past. But it is with a tinge of sadness that I face this stage in the growing-up process: aging out.

Hanging In There

2006-06-22T08:26:00.000-07:00

In a memorable scene from the movie Big Fish, the main character, Ed Bloom, says, "They say when you meet the love of your life, time stops, and that's true. What they don't tell you is that when it starts again, it moves extra fast to catch up." This is not my exact situation; however, time seems to have halted momentarily while I anxiously push through my last day and a half of work. When I woke up this morning, my brain was convinced that it was Friday, and that these would be my last 8 hours in the sub-zero, rotting rat-scented peanut plant office. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that it just wasn't true. As slowly as the time has been moving, I truly expect Ed's words to prove true--as soon as 5:00 rolls around tomorrow afternoon, the time will probably fly straight on into August. So be it.
In all fairness, the past week of work has been relatively good. The job itself hasn't changed, but it's amazing how easy it is to be optimistic when there's a clear end in sight. It has helped to look forward to good times ahead--Workcamp, Youth for Christ, and possibly another trip to Daphne to see Kristine--at last, summer as it was meant to be. Having a birthday on Tuesday certainly didn't hurt, either.
I seem to have a strange habit of looking back on unpleasant events and remembering them being somehow better than they actually were; for instance, I've thought often about last summer's trip to Gatlinburg and wished more than once that I could go back again, when I clearly remember vowing that if I ever got out, I'd never return. I'll probably look back in a few months and remember all the good things about this job--the gazebo in the park, the hours of free time devoted to reading, having time to update my blog--and wonder why I ever wanted to quit. If nothing else, it's good to know that I will at least have good memories of the summer.
This seems to be one of my most rambling posts to date. I'll take it as a sign that I should stop.

Just To Prove That I'm Still Capable of Posting Less Than Two Pages At A Time...

2006-06-14T14:34:00.000-07:00

"The world changed while I slept, and much to my surprise, no one had consulted me. That's how it would always be from that day forward. Of course, that's the way it had been all along. I just didn't know it until that morning. Surprise upon surprise: some good, some evil, most somewhere in between. And always without my consent."

(from Waiting for Snow in Havana, by Carlos Eire, who was kind enough to autograph my copy at Huntingdon last spring)

So Long, Sweet Summer

2006-06-01T11:35:00.000-07:00

It's fortunate for anyone who reads this that I haven't updated since I got out of school. So far, my summer experience has been (how shall I put it?) nothing like what I hoped it would be, and a week or two ago, anything I could have posted would have been most unpleasant, to say the least. On one hand, I wish I had written and pinned down exactly what was going through my mind, but it's probably best for everyone that I didn't.
I pushed through the end of my freshman year with vigor and enthusiasm, anxious to pull in more high grades, and looking forward to the respite of a three-month break. I had a great week or so at home, relaxing and enjoying freedom, while casually looking for a summer job. I interviewed with Personell Resources on May 8, and only two days later, I was given the wonderful opportunity of covering another employee's maternity leave at Golden Peanut Company in Headland, Alabama. (Feel free to raise one eyebrow right about now; that's been the typical reaction.) I was slightly saddened by the knowledge that I'd be giving up all of my weekdays for a couple of months, but at the same time, I was pretty excited about the opportunity to refill some of the holes I'd put into my bank account over the past few months (and amused by the idea of working at a goober plant), so I pressed forth.
I soon learned (or, rather, was reminded) that things rarely turn out the way I think they will. I'd expected that a job would at least keep me busy and productive during my months off, even if I wouldn't have quite the summer I'd hoped for. However, even after about three weeks of working, I only do one or two hours' worth of work all day, every day. Essentially, I sit behind a desk in a frigid office (and I hate being cold), do a small amount of paperwork, weigh trucks full of peanut hulls, answer the phone when it rings, and spend the rest of the day either surfing the web, reading books and newspapers, or twiddling my thumbs. Not only am I bored out of my skull, but I'm sedentary, which is even worse. I can't help thinking that I'm most likely going to gain my freshman fifteen just sitting here, when I should be out riding my bike, running, shopping, or at least cleaning the house or something. I know I'm not a kid anymore, and this is what people my age are supposed to do with their summers, but it's not like I was going to be completely unproductive for three months. In fact, a job was a definite part of my summer plans, but a job as dull as this one puts my spirit of youth in real danger of being crushed. I really haven't figured out why the caged bird sings.
Suprisingly, there is a bright side to all of this. As much as I hate the actual job, I enjoy my coworkers, and I spend my lunch hour almost every day in a little gazebo in the courtyard of the town square. I also enjoy the half-hour drives to and from work every day, which have afforded me the opportunity to spend plenty of quality time with my iPod. And if all goes according to plan, work shouldn't consume quite all of my summer. My last day, at the latest, should be July 17, and since I was told I'd only work to the beginning of July, I might be able to at least cut my hours for the last couple of weeks. That leaves me about two weeks of summer before I head back to Huntingdon, but I'll take just about anything at this point.
This job is one of those awful experiences that "builds character," and I'm sure that I "just have to make the best of it." I'm not really concerned about how much it's going to benefit me in the future; I'm just ready for it to be over. In the midst of life, there is work. Heaven help us to avoid it.

Faces To Put With Names

2006-05-12T20:05:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I treated this page to pictures, and since Blogger has made it so easy to share photos, allow me to take this opportunity to give you some visuals. Most of these have already been published on one of my gazillion (or...at least, like, three) other pages, but at least this will provide my trusty ol' blogspot with a little variety.

^Chrys and Me in our Rose Formal dresses (when I was an almost-AOII).

^Kristen, Allison, and me doing what we do best. Dothan seriously needs a WhatABurger.

^Me, Allison, Kristin, Kristen, and Chrys, the night I fell on my camera.

^The inseperable three

^Allison and Chrys... uh... bonding.

^Biscuits Baseball!!!

^Chrys, some storybook animals, me, and Allison's reflection in the window.

^Allison and me admiring the "Nazi Cow" art at the Shakespeare festival

So yeah, there's a brief sum-up of the spring semester of my freshman year. I hope that I'll have many more picturesque moments when I get back to school, and also plenty with my favorite Dothan folks in the meantime. Cheers!

More Nostalgia and Reflection

2006-04-29T14:38:00.000-07:00

I don't think I've ever felt such a strong combination of depression and elation in my whole life. I'm sitting here at my desk, looking at the empty walls in my dorm room, which, just this morning, were full of photos, paintings, and other mementos smiling down at me. My dresser drawers are empty; my only remaining clothes are either hanging in my closet or packed in a box under my bed. The common room has been stripped of everything but the college-owned furniture (and, of course, the packed boxes and piles of belongings that are collecting there until my roommates and I load them into our cars). The semester has come to a close; on Monday, as soon as I finish my last exam (or my "final final"--I started making that joke last semester and I'm not tired of it yet), I'll be returning to Dothan for three months of summer. I'm not even going to pretend to be sad about that; I'm looking forward to all the good times I'll have at home while I recuperate from the stresses of my freshman year. But at the same time, it's strange to leave Huntingdon. This place is my second home.
As many drawbacks as there are to residential life on campus, living for months at a time with the same group of people is an unmatchable experience. It's going to take some time to adjust to the idea that I can't walk down the hall and talk to Allison whenever I want, or hang out in the common room watching movies with Chrys at all hours of the morning.
Not to mention, I'm practically going to have to learn an entirely new vocabulary after I leave this place. Hutingdon College has a certain lingo that its students develop unconsciously. For instance, a Huntingdon student would not say, "I fell down the stairs in Blount this morning." A Huntingdon student would say, "I'm not gonna lie--I definitely fell down the stairs a minute ago!!" And, when you ever hand us a compliment, we're likely to respond with, "What can I say? I'm kind of a big deal." (This, of course, is entirely in kidding. We can usually conjure up the decency to reply seriously if the occasion calls for it.) I hope I can get back into the habit of using Dothan-speak. Whatever that sounds like.
Well, whether I'm happy about leaving or not doesn't really matter. I'm coming home Monday--let the good times roll!

The Year Of Expensive Lessons Learned

2006-03-30T13:25:00.000-08:00

There comes a point in everyone's life when mistakes become very costly. This year seems to be that point for me. I've messed up in just about every area of life, but in most of them, I have come out unscathed: mistakes in relationships, academics, and life in general have provided me with important lessons I could not have learned otherwise, and I have come out on top in each situation. However, my checkbook has not been so lucky.
I'm beginning to see the truth in the statement, "When it rains, it pours" (and likewise, "When it dries up, it's a full-blown drought"). Maybe it was something in the air, or in the food I ate, that made me make the decisions that ended up costing me large chunks of those paychecks I'd saved over the past year. I'll never know. But, expensive as they were, I learned a great deal from them, too, and am slowly coming to appreciate them.
First of all, I learned that while exceeding the speed limit will decrease your driving time and make a long trip a lot more pleasant, it is not worth the stressful experience of getting caught. Making the decision to own up to this first mistake, I did not cry when the officer pulled me over, nor did I try to talk my way out of the ticket he wrote me. Instead, I tried my hardest to accept the fact that my bank account would have to take the blunt end of my first misdemeanor, and had a pretty miserable remainder of my drive back to Montgomery. One chunk of cash gone.
The next mishap came about more innocently. While it was unwise of me to store my camera in my pocket while gliding around the ice rink on skates, I trusted my skills and sense of balance and thought nothing of it. However, when I went crashing to the ice, face-first, landing in an absolute belly-flop right on top of the lens, I realized that even the best skaters (and the most careless camera owners) should learn to take proper precautions. When I took the camera to a repair shop in Dothan, I ran into Daniel, the perpetrator of the M80 explosion a few posts back, and he told me about a technician in Ozark, who offered the best price for the repair (isn't it funny how things work out sometimes?). My cybershot has not occupied my pocket since. Another chunk of cash gone.
The last expensive occurence was completely self-inflicted. I knew when I joined a sorority that I was committing myself financially, but I didn't fully grasp that knowledge until I actually started writing the checks. Not only were there dues, but I practically had to buy a new wardrobe: a dress for initiation and formal chapter meetings, another dress for formal, tshirts for various events and parties. Then there were fees for every reason imaginable: initiation fees, badge fees, fees on top of fees. Several large chunks of cash gone.
For several reasons in addition to my financial objections, I have dropped my bid to AOII and am happily independent once again. I pledged with the hope that it would help me make the most of my college experience and allow me to make friends that I wouldn't have made otherwise, but after my 8-week pledgeship, I realized that Greek life was simply not what I hoped it would be. It turns out that, as small as Huntingdon is, there really weren't any girls I didn't know already, so I didn't gain many friends out of the deal. While I will miss the idea of a close-knit group of sisters, I know that I will be just as happy knowing that I can associate with whomever I wish, without reserving special affection for a small group of girls. I also know that I will still keep the relationships with my friends who remain AOIIs, especially Chrys, the best roommate in the world, and Allison and Kristen, who were my sisters in Christ before we even knew each other. While I'm still out most of the money I had paid up to this point, in the long run, I'm better off for the decision I made. I'm tempted to go off on a tangent about my existential struggle as I made the choice to grapple with the decision, but it would certainly be a long-winded tangent, and I can only go back and proofread so much. It'll just have to wait for another post.
I've said it many times in the past weeks and months, but I've not yet said it here, so I'll say it again: life is a grand adventure. And, as Gilda Radner put it, "Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity..."

Chew On This...

2006-02-20T17:00:00.000-08:00

My roommate brings up an excellent point: what kind of college that claims to be patriotic would hold political science classes on President's Day??
Good thing I don't have political science classes, or I'd probably be pretty upset.

Made It!

2006-02-05T12:08:00.000-08:00

January has come and gone, and I'm pleased to find that I'm still on my feet. My heart is still beating, blood still flows through my veins, and the sun still comes up in the morning. I won't say it was a particularly good January; in fact, it was everything I feared it would be. You may remember Eric, a party to the New Year's firecracker incident. He and I parted ways a little over a week ago, for reasons that I won't discuss here. (I always said I'd never be the kind of blogger who broadcasts her dramas shamelessly for the world to read.) However, I've surprised myself; I imagined that when this happened, I would become the pathetic, weepy person I was last year, but I didn't. I've had incredible peace, and dare I say joy, since the relationship ended. I've even enjoyed the cold weather, and decided once and for all that I am not, nor have I ever been, a victim of SAD. I guess it's helped to already have a breakup under my belt; I know that everything is going to be ok, and I know that something even better is waiting around the corner. I can hardly wait to see what becomes of me.
When things change, they change quickly. Not only am I "newly independent," I have also shocked the world by doing the very thing I swore up and down I would never do: I pledged a sorority. I didn't even really mean to--when they invited me to a pajama party in their chapter room, I attended, just for fun. Next thing I knew, they invited me to be a sister, and, well...I accepted. I'm an Alpha Omicron Pi. Supposedly, getting an open bid is a fairly big deal, so I guess I should feel honored, but to be honest, I'm not yet sure how I feel about being Greek. I love all of my new sisters, and I'm excited about getting to know them, but there's something I miss about being unaffiliated. Maybe it's the "sorority girl" image that bothers me, but as I was reminded, that only becomes true if you let it. I'm sure I'll find a way to be a good sister and still keep up my own thing. I've always been pretty good at being different...

Break On Through to the Other Side (and I don't even like The Doors)

2006-01-18T16:44:00.000-08:00

I'm not a big fan of January. Long time readers will remember that from my posts in January and early February of last year, the most negative posts of my entire blogging career. December is always a happy month for me, with all the warmth of the Christmas season and all that jazz, but when the clock strikes twelve on New Year's Eve, my spirits just seem to drop.
I've been doing a little research on the matter, and I've found that I'm not alone. Often, people's glum moods and bleak outlooks during the winter are labeled as Seasonal Affective Disorder, a depression related to seasonal conditions, such as cold weather and the short supply of natural light. Now, SAD is an actual psychological disorder, so I'm pretty sure I can't just go around claiming that I have it, but the most of symptoms sound awfully familiar. The National Mental Health Association's web page describes it like this:

regularly occurring symptoms of depression (excessive eating and sleeping, weight gain) during the fall or winter months.
full remission from depression occur in the spring and summer months.
symptoms have occurred in the past two years, with no nonseasonal depression episodes.
seasonal episodes substantially outnumber nonseasonal depression episodes.
a craving for sugary and/or starchy foods.

Whether or not I'm really mentally ill is up for question. However, I know that I have a long month or two ahead of me. NMHA suggests a few ways to beat the blues, and I'm more than willing to give them a shot. Still, if I churn out any miserable posts in the next few weeks, I hope you can just excuse me and tune me out until spring. As always, prayer and encouragement would be appreciated.

Pandeminium At The Condomonium

2006-01-02T15:20:00.000-08:00

There's nothing quite like New Year's Eve at the beach. Thank goodness for that.

Spending the weekend at the beach with Eric and a couple of our other friends sounded like a great idea in theory, and for the most part, everything went as planned. But any activity involving explosives is bound to be a bit unpredictable.

We rang in the new year on a fairly empty stretch of beach a few miles beyond the public pier. A dense fog rolled in right as the clock struck twelve, so dense that we couldn't see the other groups of people a few yards down the beach from us. After about fifteen minutes in the fog, we were soaking wet, and the fireworks' fuses would no longer light in the humidity, so we decided to pack up and head back to the condo. The fireworks of choice before we left the beach had been M80 firecrackers, which are an inch long with about the circumference of a dime. There were a few left over when we piled into Eric's two-door BMW, and Daniel had one in his pocket when he took his seat behind me.

What happened next is sort of a blur to me. I knew I was in for trouble as soon as Eric rolled down the window next to me, and when Daniel whipped out the M80 and his trusty lighter, the real show began. I'm not sure what would have been so spectacular about this stunt if it had worked properly; if that firecracker had made it out the window, we probably wouldn't have even heard the bang over the sound of the engine. Maybe the firecracker knew that, and maybe that's why it decided to bounce off the window (which Eric had not fully let down) and back into my lap. But when that happened, all I knew was that that firecracker was resting comfortably between my legs, and that fuse was burning quickly. Frantically, I tried to beat it off of my lap and into the floorboard (I decided to sacrifice my feet for the well-being of my upper body), but in the process, I managed to raise up out of my seat, and the M80 fell through my legs and took the spot that I left. For a split second, the hum of the fuse stopped, and, thinking that I had somehow put it out in all of the commotion, we all breathed a sigh of relief. As quickly as the silence came, a deafening explosion and a bright light filled the coupe, and a sharp pain spread through my lower back and buttocks. From the back seat I heard Daniel groan, "Augh, it's only a half-hour into the new year, and I've already blown it!"

The aftermath of such a traumatic experience was disappointingly mild. By the time we all woke up the next morning, I couldn't feel a thing, so when Daniel said, "Sorry about last night. How's your butt?" I could only reply, "Oh, it feels like an M80 went off in my pants," in kidding. The car seat was filled with gunpowder, but because the upholstery was leather, it was easily vacummed up, and the burn mark on my lower back has already faded. The only remaining damages are the burn marks on the butt and thighs of my favorite jeans, which only give them more character.

They say that whatever you do on New Year's Day, you will repeat throughout the coming year. For once, I hope this "They" character is full of it. Here's wishing every one of you a happy new year; may your pants be always free of bombs.

A Tribute to Autumn

2005-11-02T11:01:00.000-08:00

It was a beautiful October, more beautiful than the last one I remember. Having spent every October afternoon for the last four years on a practice field, marching drills and rehearsing music (or beating my arms senseless in the case of last year), I didn't realize just how gorgeous autumn can be. This year, there has been nothing to distract me from the glory of nature, and October has now earned the title of my favorite month. Of course, November is coming on strong; I suppose it's possible that it could even surpass October.
November came into Montgomery with clouds, rain, and a cool breeze, making yesterday undeniably fallish. Whether because of fond memories I have of this season in years past, or simply because of the beautiful weather, this is one of my favorite times of year. Something about the season is very nostalgic, very romantic. Days are short, and night falls quickly. Nights whisper promises of excitement; the cold weather brings images of warm, intimate gatherings with good friends, of coats, scarves, and rosy cheeks. My mind conjures up memories of comforting places: a fire crackling in my living room, cool evening walks in Chapelwood, preparing for Christmas at Inside Accents (even that memory is fond now).
I felt especially reflective as I walked around campus. I remembered my first visit to Huntingdon, on a chilly, rainy afternoon, much like yesterday. I remembered wondering what my life would be like when I found myself here "for real." Who would I be? What memories would I hold? So much has changed in a year! So many events have altered my thinking; so many people have entered my life and have become so dear to me. The change never stops. A year from today, I will most likely be reflecting over the chapter of my life which I am about to begin writing. Autumn has a way of bringing this realization; the year may be winding down, but life is beginning all over every day.
As the bard said, "We know who we are, but not what we may be."

College This, College That

2005-10-13T07:32:00.000-07:00

I realize that this has been the tone of all of my posts since August, but college is my life now, so I suppose that's just the way it's going to be.
My Montgomery church hunt has not progressed since my last writing, but only because my last two weekends were spent in Dothan and at the beach. The quest will continue this Sunday.
I have discovered that October is really the perfect time to be at the beach. I reccomend that everyone get to the ocean as soon as possible before October ends; you will be well-rewarded if you heed my advice.

Adventures of the Church Nomad

2005-09-26T11:19:00.000-07:00

Who knew there would ever be a time in my life where I felt more at home at school than I do in church? College definitely has a way of turning everything upside down.
Finding the right church has been much harder than I expected. I thought I knew exactly where I would end up; I thought I would automatically find the perfect church, and everything would be well and good. However, the church that I was sure would become my home didn't turn out to be the place for me, so for the last month or so I've been wandering from place to place, seeing what different churches have to offer.
I might have already found the right one if I were a little more dedicated to my search. I've gotten a little lazy about it, and for two weeks I've attended Frazer, a gigantic Methodist church with a few of my friends, although I know I should still be looking. I like worshipping with my friends, and I've enjoyed their services, but something just isn't right. I don't know how to put it, but I just know there's somewhere else for me. I know of other places I want to try, but I keep putting it off.
Maybe I've gotten into a rut just because there's no one here to stop me. It's easy to do what's comfortable; my friends would all love for me to stop looking and make myself at home at Frazer. But I know that there's more out there. So perhaps if I put down in writing: "Next Sunday, I will continue my quest for my church home," I'll actually make it happen.

Best Years of My Life, Eh?

2005-09-12T14:18:00.000-07:00

At least, that's what I've been told somewhere around a thousand times in the past few months. I have my doubts about that, but I won't argue that I'm having a fabulous time. For instance, my friend Allison and I were discussing our weekend plans at lunch last Friday. We were both planning on hanging around campus, but several of the other freshman girls were rushing for sororities, her boyfriend was leaving town, and her roommate was heading out as well. As I stuffed my mouth full of the dining hall's tantalizing fried catfish, she cried triumphantly, "I know! I'm going to go home! Come with me!" to which I responded, "Uhh...ok, sure!" What promised to be a dull two days instantly turned into an exciting road trip adventure, complete with a trek back up to Birmingham to see Shane & Shane, her favorite band, in concert. I'm sure I have some pretty good days ahead of me, even beyond college. But I doubt there will be any other time in my life when I'm this free to do whatever in the world I want. I'm living it up, looking forward to the future, but soaking up the present.

From Huntingdon, With Love

2005-08-24T15:06:00.000-07:00

Isn't it funny how amazed we are when God gives us exactly what we asked of Him? I am so thankful for the people He has sent my way here at Huntingdon.
There is a bond between Christians that simply doesn't exist between any other people. My first night on campus, I met Jamie, who is like me in countless ways. We have the same major, we both like weird bands like ELO (we even have the same favorite ELO album!), and we laugh at the same stupid things. But when it comes to spirituality, we're on opposite ends of the spectrum. Then there's Olivia. We don't have many common interests, but we're both Christians. Although I still like hanging out with Jamie, he'll never mean as much to me as Olivia does. Through this bond I have become friends with several other people that I never would have met otherwise.
While flipping through my Bible, I ran across a page of notes I took from a sermon sometime this summer. I don't remember who the preacher was, but he closed with this quote: "Where God guides, God provides--even if you don't like where He leads!" I had my doubts about coming here, but, once again, He has taken care of me in a way I couldn't have imagined!

This Just About Sums It Up

2005-07-28T21:14:00.000-07:00

The heat bore down on me on my last night in that wretched town. My calves ached from the long hours we had spent trodding through the mountains (at times in the pouring rain), and disappointment throbbed in my chest from the whitewater adventure that I, sadly, had been unable to experience. I shuddered to think that, instead of spending the day on the river, I had spent it at one of Gatlinburg's main attractions: namely, the Ripley's aquarium, which had been crammed so full of people that I had scarcely seen any fish at all. Swarms of obnoxious tourists brushed my arms as they forced their way down the crowded sidewalk and streamed forth from gift shops alive in neon lights. The unmistakable smell of corndogs mixed with the more unpleasant traces of sweat in the muggy evening air. “Why,” I thought to myself, “didn’t we just go to the beach?” I sat on a bench outside the aforementioned aquarium and waited for the rest of my companions to grow weary of shopping and take me back to the cabin, where I would gather my things and prepare for the long trip back home. When they did, we realized that we had somehow ended up with too many people and too few seats in the car, so the nine of us had no choice but to pack sardine-style into a five-seater X-Terra and pray that we could make it up the steep hills that led back to the chalet. I collapsed into bed that night, weary and ready to go home to Dothan, but fragments of a Dolly Parton ballad repeated endlessly in my head as I tossed and turned uncomfortably. Somehow I fell asleep, morning came, and with energy that I didn’t know I had, I collected my things, threw them into the van, rounded up my family, and set out for home. Things were beginning to look up. After about three hours of travel, we stopped in Chattanooga and decided to visit the Rock City gardens. Since no place could possibly be as miserable as downtown Gatlinburg, I figured it was worth a shot. We drove to the top of Lookout Mountain (after we decided not to take the incline with the group of about thirty kids from a local daycare), stopped for a bite of lunch, and headed out into the garden to see what wonders awaited us. We strolled along narrow stone pathways that wound through massive slabs of rock, sometimes so narrow that we were forced to ease our way through sideways, leaning our heads back so that our noses wouldn’t brush against the rock. The cold mountain walls provided a welcome relief from the heat, and the view from Lover’s Leap was spectacular. When we finally finished meandering through the gardens, we went back down the mountain and struck a path for home. My mood had improved considerably, but thinking about Gatlinburg still made me want to vomit. I leaned my head against the window, and as my eyes grew heavy with sleep, I vowed never to go looking for happiness in places like that when the beach is just outside my backdoor.

Just a Little Something

2005-07-10T16:41:00.000-07:00

A heart's desire is like a glass vase. It is very special and must be treated with care, but as long as I hold it in my clumsy hands, even if I'm trying to focus on my Father, it's liable to slip from my grasp and shatter into pieces on the floor. But He knows how much it means to me, and if I will just let Him hold it, it will be safe and sound in His strong arms. No vase that has ever been fully entrusted to Him has ever been broken.

When I Grow Up, I'm Gonna Be....

2005-07-08T15:08:00.000-07:00

Well, ladies and gentelmen, the results are in. At Huntingdon College this afternoon, I finally chose my major and signed up for classes that will guide me along the proper course of study. For the next four years, I will be work, work, working to earn a degree with a double major in English and creative writing and a minor in business administration. I'm ridiculously excited. I've suspected myself to be something of a nerd for many, many years now, but my suspicions have been officially confirmed. All the social activities at orientation were ok; I met some neat people and had a few good laughs. It was also pretty cool hearing about all the fun things we'll get to do outside of school. But personally, I'm pumped up about getting there, getting my laptop, and heading to class! It's going to be amazing actually being in school to learn for a change. I'm also going to be singing in the choir, strangely enough. I don't usually sing unless I'm at church or alone in my car, but I figured I could use a little involvement. I tried out, and my church of Christ upbringing landed me a spot in the alto section where my music reading skills will serve me. It's going to be a busy, action-packed year full of fresh new experiences. In the words of Brittney Harrison: "Bring it."

Predictable, Perhaps...Cliche, Maybe...

2005-07-01T08:42:00.000-07:00

Can you believe it's July already??? I really do feel like I graduated just last week, and here my summer is flying by right before my eyes. I was warned that this would be the quickest summer I had yet seen, and I guess it's true. Every day brings me closer and closer to having to go away for college. It's something I know I have to do, and when I actually do it, I know it'll be amazing. But I really wish I could just put a freeze on everything and make time stand still for a little while. Maybe just for a week or two.

This is Where I Live!

2005-06-28T07:06:00.000-07:00

This is what my room looks like post-aquarium.

I think it's pretty cool!

Goodbye, Moses

2005-06-24T14:45:00.000-07:00

I am fishless. Here I am saying goodbye to the one baby that survived.

I know, I know... a fish in a wine glass? Well, it's the best I could do.

EDIT: Just for clarification: the fish didn't die. I took them back to the pet store because I couldn't take them to college with me, and the time seemed right to let them go. Moses was one of the baby fish that I wrote about a couple of months ago; he was the only one that wasn't eaten. Not to worry, they're all alive and well, wherever they are.

But Then Again, Too Few to Mention

2005-06-20T15:36:00.000-07:00

Although I didn't get to spend time with everyone at Uplift, I did have a fantastic time at home. My dear, dear friend Kristine moved to Mobile on Saturday, so we spent as much time together during the week as possible, doing the most random things you can imagine. It figures, she moves right when we start having fun. I also had many exciting adventures at Lake Eufaula with another group of fun people.
It occurs to me that this is pretty much a pointless entry. I've sunk to the level of writing about the things I've done and not the things I've thought. Oh well, maybe things will go uphill from here.
This is fun: today is my birthday! The big 1-8. Whoopie!

Regrets? I've Had a Few

2005-06-15T07:32:00.000-07:00

Why, oh why didn't I go to Uplift? I guess we'll have to wait and see what good things come out of my being at home and not in Searcy.

It Just Occured to Me

2005-06-12T20:12:00.000-07:00

You know what's one of the best things about God?

He's there.

See Psalm 139.

After The Ball..or..um...the Metal Show

2005-06-06T07:02:00.000-07:00

I really don't understand Christian hardcore music. I know that it's a group of guys who love God and use their music to express that, and I'm sure that whatever it is that they're saying is pleasing to God (all I could make out was "blahblahblahblahJEEE-SUUUUSblahblahblahblah"). I know that God hasn't asked me to be the judge of anyone, so I'm not commenting on these band members' spiritual standings or anything of the sort. I just have a hard time picturing Jesus standing in the moshpit at one of these shows saying, "Well done, good and faithful servants!" But then again, God always meets us where we are, and if He can come down to the level of a weirdo like me, then I'm sure those guys are wonderful in His eyes, too.

The show was a rockin' good time. (Heh, I promise never to use that phrase again.)

In Your Face, Women's Lib!

2005-06-02T12:56:00.000-07:00

Whoever says there's no money to be made in homemaking needs to come and speak with me. My dear brother paid me $10 yesterday to patch up a pair of his old, hole-y (not to be confused with holy) jeans. Never mind the fact that he paid me in quarters, and that he'll probably be demanding all of it back in a day or two (I'm not too confident in my sewing abilities). Ten bucks is pretty good pay for that kind of work, especially since I didn't even ask to be paid. I'll most likely be spending my dough on admission to a gigantic show in Columbus this Saturday night. It's going to be fun walking up to the door and dumping 40 quarters into the money-collector's lap.

It's Just as Weird as You Think

2005-05-30T07:06:00.000-07:00

Dinner with the Dunaways is always an interesting experience. Last night, for instance, we ate at Mama Rosa's after church. Dad was feeling somewhat on edge for some reason, so to relieve his tension, he rolled up pieces of paper into long, thin strands and shot them at me out of his straw. His explanation for this? "I'm an African pygmy and I'm shooting you with poisoned darts."

Whoa-Hoa!!!

2005-05-27T18:32:00.000-07:00

My dear friend Rebecca left this morning to spend two months in Scotland. I wish I could go with her...I will miss her terribly.

...I graduate tomorrow...

I Didn't Mean to Leave You All Alone...

2005-05-24T16:18:00.000-07:00

It's a little late, I know, but here are those prom pictures I promised:

^That'd be me showing off my ridiculous footwear.

^Dang...we're so gorgeous it hurts.

^The group: Allen, Suzy, Colby, Jen, me, Jack

^I liked that picture, even though he's in the shadow and I'm not, and it makes my dress look gray.

^That one looks like a wedding picture. Jack should have been in the middle, though, because he's the shortest.

^I had only known these gals for two or three weeks, but here we look like the best of friends.

Well, there you go. Is that enough proof that I have not abandoned my blog? My xanga didn't get nearly that many pictures. Jovan's seen some of those before--sorry to bore you, buddy. I also changed my profile picture to further prove my point, but I don't know if I'll keep it. I'm not sure if the world is ready for the female Derek Zoolander. Give me some comments and maybe I'll keep posting. Heh.

It's A Madhouse!

2005-05-13T11:55:00.000-07:00

You know what? Prom preparation can be seriously stressful. Even I, having really very little "getting ready" to do, am about to pull my hair out. Of course, this would be a little easier if I wasn't sick. Wait. No. I cannot be sick. Let me rephrase that: this would be easier if I hadn't been coughing my lungs up for five days straight. Ah, well, when the going gets tough, the tough get going, and I'm no weakling. I've been taking as much cold medicine as is healthy, and I've already drunk five bottles of water and downed dozens of peppermints to stay hydrated and supress the coughs. If all else fails, I suppose I'll grab a bottle of ultra-non-drowsy DayQuil and chug it while I get dressed. That would make for an interesting evening. If I can figure out how, I'll post pictures tomorrow. Lasseiz les bons temps rouler!

SO-O-RRY!!!

2005-05-04T19:05:00.000-07:00

Ok, guys, I'm sorry. It's my fault. I didn't mean to suggest a terrible Youth for Christ theme. I was just trying to come up with something not related to music/movies/television. Didn't mean to cause any ruckus.

Also Appearing On My Xanga...

2005-04-28T13:58:00.000-07:00

I've been in a somewhat reflective state for the past several days. God has gotten ahold of me lately and made me look my life right in the face and see it for what it really is. I have decided that right now I need more than anything to get back to Him. For many months now, I've been totally absorbed in myself-- what I want, what I need, what I think, and so on. I've fooled myself into thinking that I know my needs better than He does, and even though I've asked for His guidance, I really haven't listened to Him. I've pretty much been doing my own will and calling it His, and as a result, I've made countless mistakes and messes that could have been easily avoided. Of course, this isn't to say that I've turned my whole life into one big mess. God has shown me that He is more than capable of doing what He wants with me, no matter how much I get in the way. He continues to bless me regardless of all the stupid things I do. But these days He just seems to be telling me, "Imagine how much more I could do if you would give me full control!"

My Own Fish Story

2005-04-25T19:20:00.000-07:00

It was a beautiful, sunny Sunday afternoon...and not just any Sunday afternoon--it was a Sunday afternoon which I was NOT spending behind the counter at Inside Accents. I had already conquered the bike trail with my dad and knocked out Wal Mart with my mother, so the only thing left for me to do was to annihilate the dirt and grime growing in my fishtank. I spent a good half-hour scrubbing, cleaning, and siphoning. Normally, this is a job I despise, but it hadn't been months since I had last done it, so it was coming along surprisingly well. I was fishing the last few bits of sludgy, soggy food out of the water when I noticed a tiny little black speck which appeared to be swimming around in the net. I looked closely, and to my horror, realized that it was none other than a tiny, baby fish! A few minutes later, after I regained my composure and picked myself up from the puddle that I had become on the ground, I took a closer look and discovered ten or fifteen more of the miniscule things clinging to the walls of the tank. My heart was about to pound out of my chest. I had had many nightmares about these fish of mine reproducing, growing to mammoth size, and lunging out of the tank at me, and now the disgusting things had gone and fulfilled my worst dreams. What was I going to do? I couldn't catch them with the net; they were small enough to slip easily through the holes in the mesh. As small as they were, they gave me the creeps. I had enough trouble dealing with three full-grown fish. What was I supposed to do with fifteen more? I was liable to start having panic attacks every time I looked at the tank. Before I had a chance to think about it too much, I began to witness what was probably the most disturbing yet relieving sight I have ever seen: the larger fish began to eat the smaller ones, one by one. My mother assured me that it was all part of the circle of life, and convinced me to ignore the creepy feeling and just be glad that the babies were gone. I guess that's all well and good, but I'd really prefer not to have the whole circle of life taking place in my bedroom. Moral of the story: fish are bad news. You give them a home and food, and what do they do? The disgusting things reproduce. Stick with something safe, like a chia pet.

Two-Face Dunaway; or My Hideous Plight

2005-04-21T18:54:00.000-07:00

I feel like I've been living a double life lately, now that I have a blog and a xanga. It's getting pretty stressful; I can't keep track of what I should write in which one, and one of them always seems to get neglected (usually this one). I've contemplated letting one of them go, but I really don't think I can. This one has come too far for me to give up on it now, but it seems like more people read my xanga. And although I prefer the content of my blog, I have to admit that xanga is much easier to use. What's a girl to do? I think I should quit using the computer altogether and go back to the days when I actually spoke with my friends in person. Sound good to anyone else?

Have a Nice Trip, Gracie! See You Next Fall!

2005-04-04T14:36:00.000-07:00

I've realized that the tone of my last couple of posts here has been a little bit on the serious side. Although there's nothing wrong with that, allow me to lighten the mood with a summary of my day. My story begins on the dilapidated campus of Dothan High School. In the area between the science building and the lunchroom, there is a trench in the pavement covered by a metal grating. I couldn't tell you what its purpose is, but with all the rain we've had lately, the trench flooded and the grating washed up onto the pavement, leaving a giant hole in the middle of the walkway. For several days, I successfully dodged that monster and went on about my business. However, the weekend has a way of erasing important things form our memories. I learned this unpleasant fact firsthand. Today I was walking to my third class as usual--carrying myself upright with my shoulders thrown back and my chin in the air. I turned a corner and headed toward that trench, but my eyes were gazing straight ahead, never looking down. All of a sudden, I felt my strong posture fall to pieces as my foot found that gaping hole and my knee buckled under me. Fortunately, my cat-like reflexes kicked in before I could topple completely to the ground, and I played off my near disaster by performing a deft, graceful leap onto the solid, level ground. Only slightly humiliated, I gave a quick salute to all my pointing, laughing classmates and headed off to English with flushed cheeks and the knowledge that I had brought joy to a few hundred otherwise dismal high schoolers.

I Will Say It Again: Rejoice!

2005-03-31T13:10:00.000-08:00

Praise God for the work he has done in Emily Bauman, my new sister in Christ!

Thought of the Day

2005-03-27T13:49:00.000-08:00

"Without a living savior, Christianity is a dead faith."
-Jovan Barrington

Happy Easter

The Full Story

2005-03-25T13:40:00.000-08:00

Blogger has gotten on every one of my nerves today. I was planning on posting several pictures from yesterday's beach trip, but for the life of me I can't figure out how to do it. Maybe it's just the software I'm using...but I cannot get more than one picture in a single entry. Oh well. The beach was gorgeous, and being down there was well worth the pain of my sun-scorched shoulders. Kristine and I had all sorts of fun: we tried unsuccessfully to fly kites (which had been sitting in the back of my car for months and had melted together), played our moms in an intense game of putt-putt, discovered the joy of flicking Dippin' Dots at each other, and laughed in the face of hypothermia with a refreshing swim in the chilly ocean water. Good times...good times. Long live spring break!

Wear Sunscreen!!!

2005-03-24T18:22:00.000-08:00

Why is it that I force myself to learn this lesson every year?

True Colors

2005-03-23T07:46:00.000-08:00

A very warm and sunny July day was coming to a close on the beaches of Seagrove, and all the sunbathers were packing up their tanning lotions and umbrellas and heading back to the condos. The only ones still enjoying the day were those of us who were strolling along the coast, enjoying the cooling air of dusk. As we walked leisurely down the beach, I saw a man jogging toward us in the distance. Having tried running on the beach myself, I knew how difficult this task was. Naturally, I assumed that this man must be quite serious about health and fitness. As he came closer, I could see that his t-shirt had something written across the front in bright, bold letters. I tried to imagine what this fitness guru might be advertising with his attire. Perhaps it was from the gym where he exercises when he can't make it to the beach. Perhaps it was a souvenir from a power meet that he attended in his high school days. He was even closer at this point, and I recognized that the logo was faintly familiar--the swirling letters, the red and green. As he passed us, I could only hope that the sound of the ocean drowned out my laughter. The letters on this shirt said, of all the things, "Eat Krispy Kreme Doughnuts." Perhaps that was why he was running down the beach in the first place.

I Consider This Day Seized....

2005-03-20T20:22:00.000-08:00

...seized and throttled!! Yes, my friends, I have tasted the sweetness of a day lived to its fullest. And may I say, it was well worth the pain that I'm feeling now. Not only did I get to go to Westgate for both services today (that's not where the pain comes in), but my dad and I also got out our bikes and hit the trail at TSUD. I'm feeling the burn from some of those treacherous hills and roots, but it's a good kind of burn. Of course, I may not feel that way in the morning. But not even sore muscles could bring me down, because I HAVE FINALLY SEEN NAPOLEON DYNAMITE!!!! A wonderful movie, surprisingly still funny even after hearing my friends quote the whole thing. Seeing that things can't possibly get any better for me today...I'm gonna hit the sack and end this awesome day with some good rest.

There She Goes With Hope Again...

2005-03-18T14:12:00.000-08:00

Something must be wrong with me. I know it's spring break and everything...but my goodness...I'm so happy I don't know what to do with myself! And I don't know why...I couldn't fall asleep last night because I felt so darn good. Seriously--my brother's gone to Mexico for a week, it's too cold to do anything outside, I still haven't seen Napoleon Dynamite...and I absolutely can't sit still. I'm trying not to think about it too much...the more I analyze, the less happy I feel. And let's face it--I haven't felt like this in a while. Let's not spoil it by dwelling on it.

Is It In You?

2005-03-17T07:24:00.000-08:00

Last night I felt the urge to get rid of some built-up energy, so I came home from church and played a few games of basketball with my brother. I have a suspicion that he cut me a little slack, because I actually managed to score 18 points in the last round, when I usually struggle to get 6 (and I would've won that game if he hadn't tipped me and made me go back to zero--stupid house rules). It was still pretty hardcore, though--by the time we called it quits, he had spit in my face, tripped me a couple of times, and put a nice rip in my pants. Just like the old days.

Funtime!!!

2005-03-16T14:10:00.000-08:00

Yep, it's that time again...glorious spring break. I've got big plans all right: sleep, sleep, sleep. It's supposed to rain most of the week, but maybe I can get in at least one day at the beach. In honor of the week, check it out:
www.homestarrunner.com/tgs5.html

Curse You, Writers' Block!

2005-03-11T06:08:00.000-08:00

You know you have fashion problems when you start sharing clothes with your dad. I woke up this morning to discover that my dad had borrowed my Las Vegas belt buckle and replaced it with one of his old buckles from the 70s. I know, that's actually understandable. But if I ever show up at school wearing a pair of his shoes....

What Kind of Place Is This?

2005-03-08T06:04:00.000-08:00

The Dothan city school system is pretty pathetic. It's graduation exam week, which is wonderful for me. I passed them in the tenth grade, so here I am, chilling out at home until they're done testing. But apparently, very few people have had any interest in graduating these past two years, because for two weeks we've been bombarded by announcements begging everyone to please, just show up! Not only do the teachers call every student who's supposed to be testing every day, just to check and see that they're coming, but everyone who is kind enough to come give it a shot has a chance to win all sorts of grand prizes. I guess there's nothing wrong with a little bribe every now and then. When it gets right down to it, I guess I'm not really so much concerned with the fate and well-being of good old Dothan High. I'm just jealous because no one offered me a free meal at La Bamba for coming to school to take a test that had to take if I ever expected to get out of there. I should probably stop talking about it...just thinking about La Bamba is making me extremely hungry.

P.S. Sorry, Adam...Garden Spot. It's not that I wasn't paying attention...honest...

My Bad...

2005-03-02T14:38:00.000-08:00

My apologies for not writing in so long. I spent last week writing a research paper about Christian Existentialism. Needless to say, it kept me pretty busy. But I have to say, it was the finest literary creation my mind has ever cooked up. Maybe I'll let you read it one day. Right now, I'm going to go brush up on the swing dance steps I learned last year.

The Next One

2005-02-18T19:26:00.000-08:00

It's been an uneventful week, but somehow, it's gone by pretty quickly. I've found comfort lately in the fact that time marches on; the rotten days always end. For lack of anything else to say, I'm just going to post one of my favorite poems. Here it is:

Frozen Dream by Shel Silverstein
I'll take the dream I had last night
And put it in my freezer,
So someday long and far away
When I'm an old grey geezer,
I'll take it out and thaw it out,
This lovely dream I've frozen,
And boil it up and sit me down
And dip my old cold toes in.

P.S. Congratulations to my recently engaged blogging buddy Jovan!

It's Getting Better All the Time

2005-02-10T15:29:00.000-08:00

I could tell things were looking up when I came home from school on Wednesday and saw three boxes of Girl Scout Cookies waiting for me on the kitchen table. There was no doubt in my mind when I came home from work later that night and found three more. Girl Scout Cookies are the first sure sign that spring is coming and everything is going to be all right. Life has taken a turn for the better this week. I got a few days of much-needed sunshine, and today I had even-more-needed girl time with my friend Kristine. My heart is beginning to heal. Valentine's Day is still going to be Hades on Earth. But then, it's been that way since we stopped having parties at school with cupcakes and cheesy little cards for everyone. Last year on V-Day, I was tumbling down a snow-covered mountain screaming, "Skiing is the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life!!" But that still beats the ordinary.

It's Finally February!

2005-02-02T14:54:00.000-08:00

I think it's so ridiculous that we have to celebrate the new year in January. Personally, I think making it through January is an even bigger accomplishment than making it through the year. New Year's is a time to celebrate new beginnings, but for me, January is more of the same, more of the same. In January, people get bored and restless. Things that they once enjoyed become dull and unbearable. I hate January. Therefore, I have chosen to celebrate the new year now. January is over! That's a reason to be happy. Pretty soon, I'll be returning to my natural habitat...

...and all will be as it should be.

Cheese...Whine...Part 2

2005-01-28T20:09:00.000-08:00

Didn't get the scholarship, and one of my fish died. But I guess that means I'm pretty safe, because things can only go uphill from here.

Need a Little Cheese With That Whine?

2005-01-27T05:25:00.000-08:00

I'm having the worst week ever.

P.S. I'll miss you guys at Hargis.

Teacher, Leave Those Kids Alone

2005-01-19T18:52:00.000-08:00

My first day of teaching was just as crazy as I expected. I've got third graders this time, and it looks like it's going to be a lot harder than kindergarten. My plan today was to go in and see what they already knew and ask them what they wanted to learn, so I'd know what to teach the rest of the time. It worked, except that it didn't take up quite enough time, so for the last ten minutes, they took turns asking me how to say different words in Spanish. They came up with some pretty off-the-wall things, like "overhead projector," as well as some things that I just couldn't remember, like the months of the year. Eventually, they started to say things like, "What do you mean, you don't know? You're the teacher!" and, "You've been taking Spanish for a year and you STILL haven't learned that?" It was pretty hilarious. It's gonna be great, but I already miss the kids I had last year. Kindergarteners are my favorite.
By the by, I'm going to be at Huntingdon this Saturday interviewing for a scholarship, and if all goes well, I could get full tuition. Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers and I'll let you know how it went when I get back Sunday!

Back to the Old Grind

2005-01-11T14:44:00.000-08:00

This semester promises to be a great way to finish high school with a bang. I dropped mechanical design/drafting so I wouldn't have to fight the horrendous traffic on Oates Street every day at lunchtime. It's very sad, because I love my drafting teacher, but he's not worth getting rear-ended (again) or riding the smelly bus full of screaming yard apes. Now I'm taking Spanish III instead, which means that once a week I get to teach a half-hour lesson at Hidden Lake Elementary. With any luck I'll get some of the same kids I had last year, and if not, then I'm sure I'll meet some more who are just as hilarious. I should have some pretty good kid stories coming at you before too long.

Quote of the Day

2005-01-10T14:39:00.000-08:00

"Hot stinking pot of roiling boiling death!!! Hotsa monkey!!!"
-my dear ol' dad removing a skillet from the oven with not-so-effective mitts

Shout Out!

2005-01-07T11:05:00.000-08:00

I thought it only right to send a hey to my bloggin' friends Jovan and Chris. Glad you're reading. However, I do feel somewhat pressured now to write good things for once. I also apologize for not responding to any of your comments...it never occurred to me that there would actually be any comments. So I guess that since this blog isn't so secret anymore, I'll have to start a new, super-secret, untraceable one for all the deep, dark stuff. You guys'll be stuck reading this mish-mash! Ha ha!

Season's Greetings

2005-01-01T16:36:00.000-08:00

Good news! I got a snazzy new digital camera for Christmas, so now I'll be able to bombard my blog with all types of random pictures! Here's one of me with my other favorite present. I never knew how to yo-yo until now. The only bad part of my Christmas was that I had to have my wisdom teeth hacked out and therefore missed my favorite youth group trip of the year. Sorry, guys! Hope everyone else had a wonderful holiday!

December Daydreams

2004-12-21T15:13:00.000-08:00

All this chilly weather is filling me with an intense urge to go out and have some wintertime fun. Take this picture, for example. Look at how much fun we're having with just a few mere inches of snow! Look at how cute we are (never mind my brother's adidas toboggan)! It's not highly likely that I'll get to do any skiing this winter; so far the only cold-weather fun I've had was bundling up in gloves and scarves and sweats galore and taking my evening walk while it was 30 degrees out. But perhaps my future holds at least a day trip to Montgomery to go ice skating.

Christmas Confusion

2004-12-16T10:38:00.000-08:00

I've heard more than my share of Chistmas music this year, as I spend at least 16 hours a week in a store that blasts it nonstop. A few days ago, Dave Matthews' "Christmas Song," which is supposed to tell the story of Jesus, came on at work, and I stopped to listen to it. Musically, it's a beautiful song, but the lyrics are a bit puzzling. He gets everything pretty much right in the beginning, but everyone knows the story of the birth of Jesus, so he was bound to get that much. However, when he moves on to the crucifixion, he says: "When Jesus Christ was nailed to his tree, he said, 'Oh, daddy, oh, I can see how it all soon will be; I came to shed a little light on this darkening scene; instead I fear I've spilled the blood of our children all around.'" What does that mean? Does Dave think that that was all a mistake? Does he not understand that the crucifixion was supposed to happen? That it was the whole reason Jesus came down here in the first place? I'm not suggesting that he should know any better, I'm just saying, maybe he should check the facts. It might help him out.

Whiling Away the Hours

2004-12-15T13:59:00.000-08:00

The longer I sit in front of the computer screen, the harder it is to leave. I gotta get up.

Owner of a Lonely Heart

2004-12-07T19:05:00.000-08:00

I remember when Christmas really was the most wonderful time of the year. Not that it isn't still pretty great--it's just that when you and your best friend work in retail during the holiday season, that pretty much means no fun. Because let's face it: having break and lunch together at school ain't such a big thrill. Maybe during the days off from school we can fly kites at the beach. But enough whining. On a lighter note, I'm compiling lists of words that I do and do not like. So far, I've found that I like "antiquated," "exponentially," "dilapidated," "gangly," "cognizant," and "rubbish," and I don't care at all for "knapsack" and "supple." So far, the words that I like are winning, and I'm making an effort to incorporate them into my everyday vocabulary. And I'm also further convinced that I need to seek a degree in English. Or perhaps an appointment with a therapist.

Why I Should Probably Never Be a Teacher

2004-12-01T13:42:00.001-08:00

I think kids are great--they are the authors of some of the world's purest comedy. For example, take the three-year-olds' Bible class that I helped teach about three years ago. We were all sitting around the little tables listening to a story about Jonah, and I guess no one noticed that Harden had discovered the fun of leaning his chair back on two legs and holding on to the table with his feet. The room was quiet until the legs of Harden's chair gave up and Harden went crashing to the ground. Before I had time to react, the teacher jumped up and shouted, "Harden! Are you ok?" to which he replied simply, "Yup." The laugh escaped from my mouth before my hand could stifle it.

Have I Figured it Out?

2004-11-29T17:33:00.000-08:00

I'm thinking I've decided what I actually want to do in college. Brace yourself: I think I want to be an English major. And not some underpaid, badly dressed, 40-something year old teacher whose purpose in life is to get tenth grade kids to appreciate the Scarlet Letter, and not that one annoying know-it-all who always nags everyone about using proper grammer and pronunciation (I do that anyway). No, no...the kind of smart cookie who has read (and understood) all the important books, who writes on an intelligent level (I've a long way to go, haven't I?) and looks really good in those reading glasses.

A Day of Freedom

2004-11-11T11:04:00.000-08:00

A perfect day to be out of school--cloudy and rainy, nowhere to go, nothing to do. Surprisingly enough, I'm having a good time being bored. Breaking news: I'm finally a member of the work force. I got a job at a warehouse store full of Christmas trees, wall tapestries, and silk flowers. It's pretty easy...I run a cash register when we have customers (which doesn't happen too often on weekday afternoons), and when I'm not doing that, I'm pricing wreaths and ornaments and fake leaves. Pricing is kind of annoying, especially when I have ten boxes full of Christmas garland (tears up my hands, you know), and by closing time, I'm covered in glitter (but, hey, it adds to my feminine charm...and that is something that I do not have in abundance). And the paycheck certainly won't hurt me.

Monday, Monday

2004-11-01T16:57:00.000-08:00

You know what? "Thriller" is a really dumb song without the video.

Halloween Hootenanny

2004-10-30T22:00:00.000-07:00

It's been a pretty interesting week around here. My schedule went something like this:
Monday: woke up with a fever of 102. stayed home and drank water and ate jello all day.
Tuesday: returned to school where I was informed that I would be spending the next two days in ISS because of an incident that happened more than two months ago. School is a wonderful place these days. It's ok to run around campus screaming profanities, but it is strictly prohibited to use your cell phone at 3:45 in the afternoon to call your mother to tell her that you're leaving school late.
Wednesday: was on my way out the door when I realized that some creep had stolen my money at school the day before. Spent the day in ISS with a teacher who told us to call him Frank.
Thursday: another day of punishment, walking to lunch in a single file line and whatnot. Frank was gone, some other lady was there, and the room was full of a bunch of people who spent all day singing, yelling, and trying to convince everyone in the room to vote Kerry.
Friday: the last halftime show of the season; most likely the last halftime show in which I will participate...ever.
Saturday: trick or treat--cute kids in cute costumes. Only two rolls of Smarties left in the house.
My Strong Bad pumpkin and Earl's The Cheat pumpkin reigned supreme.
More updates in the week to come.

The Funniest Thing I Ever Saw

2004-10-26T14:45:00.000-07:00

A few years ago on one of my weekly pilgrimages to the mall, I saw an elderly couple walking slowly down the hall. It was heartwarming to see two people who had lived together and loved each other for so long, so I followed them for a minute or two. When they reached center court, the man (who was apparently wearing tap shoes) suddenly broke loose from his wife and began dancing in the middle of the floor. I thought it was the greatest thing I had seen in my life, but the poor old lady was not so impressed. "Would you please stop it?!?" she hissed, interrupting his shuffle step. He laughed, which seemed to make her even angrier. "Just come on!!" she said, as she grabbed his arm and they went storming down the mall. The old man was still laughing.

Don't Even Ask How My Day Was

2004-10-20T13:48:00.000-07:00

It just hasn't been the best of days. How can it be 85 degrees outside on October 20?? But even without the heat, the day wouldn't have been much better. Some crazy teacher decided it would be fun to have a new program called "Girl Talk" that pulls every girl at the place out of their first class and brings them together to talk about girl stuff. The whole concept was disgusting in the first place, but when one of the "girl" topics turned out to be personal hygeine, things just went down the tubes. I'm so glad I missed an hour of physics so I could learn how to use proper ettiquite when flushing a toilet. I hate my school.