So Mom just got a calling as a Beehive advisor in my parents' ward. I thought it was cute that she'd be with the Young Women. She thought it was great, but funny because they have almost as many adult leaders as they do young women. It might as well be a personal mentoring program, with each girl assigned to an adult.
But she was happy to be with the Beehives - 12- and 13-year old girls are generally more excited and fun than the older girls. Everything about the Young Women program is still a little new to them, so they like going to all the activities and participating in classes and stuff. I know that's how I felt when I was a Beehive. The older I got, the more common and repeated activities became, and my schedule got busier with other things, so YW wasn't always the top priority like it was when I was younger.
I personally thought it was great that she was with the Beehives because they are still moldable, and they will be like putty in her hands (a thought I shared while rubbing my palms together and giggling like a mad scientist). She smiled at my silliness, but soon grew fond of the power she might be able to tap into with this new calling. Dad totally bought into the putty idea, and we spent the next 15 minutes discussing opportunities to mold these girls into what we wanted before we finally got to saying our family prayer, which we had initially gathered for. But since when have we ever been able to gather for prayers and then actually say them right away? I submit that even a cranky daughter or tired father or sore-kneed mother can't cut out the space between gathering and prayer.
But mom really is excited about this, and she likes that she gets to hang out with some great adult women who are fellow beehive advisors. She especially has one friend, a younger-ish woman, who is the Beehive advisor in the YW presidency, whom she was happy to work with. Apparently this woman thinks mom is just great, and mom likes that she doesn't have to be friends with only the older women in the ward just because she's kind of older herself. She's still 35 at heart, so her friends should be 35 as well, right?
So last night was mom's first young women's activity. She left, calling out, "Don't wait up for me!" like she was actually a young woman, and then added, "Because we've got to plan the next few months' activities, since they don't have much thought out right now...," which made me feel better about why I wasn't waiting up.
Turned out, she got home around 9:45, so she just barely made it home before I would've followed her wishes and not wait up for her. But, as it were, I was awake, and actually standing in the kitchen, downing a cup of deliciously cold water when she walked through the door. She saw me, smiled and hurried to close the door, a look of some excitement on her face. I wondered quickly what her activity had been to bring her home smiling.
Surprisingly, the smile was actually regarding me, as the first words that came out of her mouth were, "I've found your husband!" Knowing mother to be slightly pickier than I am on first inspection of any boy for me, I responded, "Great. I like it when I don't have to put much work into these kinds of things. When do I meet him?"
My favorite part about my mom is that she knows exactly what points matter right off the bat, and which ones can wait to be brought up until after. I always know the guy isn't right for me when she starts to talk about their traits and qualities in the wrong order. And she realizes certain boys aren't wanted when she catches herself withholding the important facts right away. And she quickly fesses up to it. I learned right away that this new husband of mine was 6 ft. tall, 25-years old, attractive, lives in Washington, DC (so he'll just be waiting for me when I get there), has a job with the Government doing work with people visiting from foreign countries, showing them around and teaching them some of the things that are commonly found or done in America, pretty much acquainting them with the Country and its silly habits and traditions. These people then say, "If you're ever in my country, you have a place to stay!" So he's got connections.Tall-ish, cute, young enough but not too young, employed, and looking to travel when his 3-year stint with the Gov't is over. Sounds like a pretty good catch, eh? His sister is the woman that mom is good friends with in YW, and I suppose she was telling her and the other leaders about my leaving, and everyone suddenly got really excited about the match. A few of the leaders who know me from my brief stint in the ward just think I'm so cute, so I'd be great for him. And those who know him attest to his attractiveness and great personality.
Mother did ask if he'd come settle in Centerville when his contract with the Government ended, since their family is here, and she said that he'd would be more likely to go travel around and use his connections. I could tell that probably made mom slightly bummed, but also pleased her because I would love to just go travel with him everywhere, and not come back to Centerville. But our families would be here, so we'd both be pulled back to visit when we wanted to see family. So at least our base would be in the same place.
I think she really is excited about this match. Mom has another friend who has a son around my age, and she keeps mentioning him randomly, but always remembering that he's short and slightly balding (which wouldn't be so bad, but the height problem hurts my ability to look past his follicle problem), so then she conveniently forgets him again.
And I'm willing to go with this, because my mother isn't the kind to make me date just for dating's sake. She doesn't think any and every boy could be potentially great. She judges them with the same harsh eye I do. We both recognize the good in the boys I go out with, but she also allows me to not like them for whatever other reasons. She doesn't try to rush me off to be married - although she has been suddenly dropping lots of comments that I need to find a boy to marry in the next few months. But the comments come from pure selfishness on her part. She just wants me to find a Davis County boy so that I won't leave in a few months, and because Davis County boys NEVER seem to leave Davis County. The biggest reason why I practically refuse to date a Davis County boy.
She told me last night, when it came up again later, that she'd find out some more particulars later - like his name, which for some reason, she can't remember. I generally find that to be important as well - what if his last name is atrocious with my first name? So I'm kind of disappointed at the lack of importance she's placing on it. But as she's reminded me lately, she never pictured herself with a "Walter," so I can't judge people by their names (but it's so hard!).
My favorite part is that, at one point, I mentioned, "I'm really excited to meet my husband in 5 months," and she lit up as she remembered that he'd probably be in town in July for his brother's return from his mission, so I could meet him then! So it's really only 4 months! Then she ruined the moment (as she's prone to do) by saying, "so we've got to get you looking really cute by July. Better get working out even more! And start growing out your hair." To be honest, the hair comment was based on an intruding conversation about how I want to do my hair for my wedding, and she was willing to discuss alternative ways for me to achieve my potential hairstyle. AND she always seems to add 'better start working out' to everything, I think in a pre-emptive strike to my constant retorts of 'are you calling me fat?' So I've brought it on myself. And I am working out, generally, so I just laugh at mom's cuteness now.
But seriously, I'm way excited about my new husband. The less work I have to do, the better. I can't wait for you to meet him! But first things first, specifically my first - which will come in July, when I first meet him. I look forward to the sparks that will inevitably fly between us as we look deep into each other's eyes and see our soulmate looking back at us.
Seriously, I don't know why people object to arranged marriages. I say bring it on!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Working Out
I went and worked out tonight for the first time at this gym across the street from our house. It was (and still is, for the time being) a small 24-hour gym, and it just got bought out by this other gym, which is much bigger and offers a lot more by way of exercise machines and classes and saunas and pools and such (the such is really what sold me). Mom was kind of mourning the loss of this easy access 24-hour place that she could've worked out at anytime she wanted, and was small and intimate, but it had been there for at least a year and she only decided to sign up for it the day it was bought. So I don't feel too bad for her. And this new gym will be open 4am-midnight, so our opportunities to exercise aren't really limited by time - I mean, I don't think Mother was going to go over and run on the treadmill at 2 in the morning - she told Dad just yesterday that she'd go work out later that night around 9pm and he should watch her walk over in case she got kidnapped or mugged. At 9pm. I don't imagine her going anytime later than that. (She didn't end up going at 9pm anyway, so no one had to worry about anyone getting mugged. Always a good thing).
This new gym isn't fully built yet - it's still very much in the building phase - so we get free access to this old gym. I decided to take advantage of that tonight, because it's still a bit chilly outside and I didn't feel like just straight-up running. So I threw my hair in a fun messy ponytail and put on my cute new workout clothes. Last week when we went on a Barlow Family shopping outing at the Park City outlet mall, I enjoyed myself at the Nike store and the Adidas store, as well as the exercise areas of some other stores (Old Navy is growing their exercise clothes, who knew?), and found myself some cute workout clothes for the spring and summer. I need to get myself in great DC shape - I've skipped trying to motivate myself with 'swimsuit season;' it hasn't ever worked before, so it would've been a long shot this time. But who gets motivated when they have no cute clothes to be out in??? I sure don't. Clothes I want to spend time in get my butt to the gym or out on a run, which in turn helps me bring less butt back home. And there were some great sales, so I now have a good start on my motivational outfits.
So, I threw on some shorts and a tee, and then a light pink pullover jacket - a nice addition to my technical gear (which, if you had been with my mom at Park City, you would realize is now essential for just about every piece of clothing. Not to mention, dad can't fault you for buying it if you say it's technical - he's got enough of it, he can't question our purchases). Threw on my shoes, and I ran out the door...in more of a walking fashion, of course. I made my way to the gym and found it empty. Perfect. It gave me time to walk around a little bit, acquaint myself with the place, without looking like a total newcomer to anyone else. Then I jumped on an elliptical, played with the remote for the TV for a bit until I stumbled across the end of Wheel of Fortune. I smiled to realize Jeopardy would be on next, and I settled into a nice 10 minute warm-up. It seemed like the perfect combination: working my brain and my body at the same time! Talk about your multi-tasking.
That first 10 minutes in the gym was interesting: realized I run funny on an elliptical; felt my left hip bothering me due to funny running; refused to stop running before the 10 minutes were over out of stubbornness; answered the majority of Jeopardy questions correctly (or questioned the Jeopardy answers correctly; I suppose); missed stupid questions/answers I should've known; sighed with relief when 10 minutes ended. Then I moved to a treadmill and quickly decided two things - a. I do not like treadmills. b. I shouldn't try to set up any machine's workout programs while still trying to catch the clues given on Jeopardy. because it just doesn't work. I quickly moved to a stationary bike, hoping I'd like that better. I had to learn lesson b from above again, but I got myself going pretty smoothly this time.
I'm not the best stationary bike rider. I always want to give up after about 2 minutes. But I set my workout on the cardio setting, and I forced myself to get through another 10 minutes. I didn't realize at first that this 10 minutes would also require getting my heart rate to 157 and keeping it there. I don't last long on bikes - I almost just fell off around minute 5, as I went 'up' my 3rd 'hill' and wondered why everyone thought biking was such a great thing. Perhaps it's different on a real bike. But I don't think so.
But never fear, I forced myself to stay on that bike until it flashed 10 minutes and let up on its training course My heart rate wasn't so faithful though - it started falling a minute after I achieved the mark. So much for maintaining it.
The hardest part about exercising on a bike is that I sweat when I exercise anyway, and, as gross as it sounds, riding on a bike just makes me feel like I've peed my cute workout shorts. I'm sitting there around the 7 minute mark and I seriously have to think, "Did I really just pee my pants? Have I suddenly lost complete control of my bladder? Do I need to start wearing Depends?" I get up, wipe the seat down of my sweat (for I have finally concluded that I do still control my bladder, but not my sweat glands), smile that it really isn't very sweaty, that I was just getting over-nervous about it. But I was sweating, and my shorts still feel a little like I wet them.
And these workout shorts (not so cute when sitting on a bike, but I blame my squished thighs for that) have the built-in extra underwear/lining in them, which always seem to be bigger than the shorts they're put into. I'm really noticing their presence right now. I go and do a few sit-ups and weight machines for a few minutes, hoping to dry myself out, since a few older guys have come in and I get suddenly claustrophic with their presence. I finally decide I've done enough for my first night at the gym, and I leave, taking a quick 2 minute jog home. The cold air chills my sweat but feels generally pretty refreshing. But it makes that sweaty extra lining feel even heavier, and I can't help by feel like I'm carrying a load. So now, not only have I peed my pants, but I've also pooped them, according to how they feel. Stupid extra panties, making me question my bladder and bowel control, making me feel like an 85 year old woman. Don't worry, I've still got the control of your average 23 year old girl - only peeing my pants when I laugh too hard and only pooping them on extremely special funny occasions.
Mom thinks the extra liner might shrink when I wash them, and I'm really hoping for it. But other, asta la vista, panty. We had our fun, but if you can't change, then this can't work. You're too high-maintenance for me. I'm cutting you out of my shorts and out of my life.
This new gym isn't fully built yet - it's still very much in the building phase - so we get free access to this old gym. I decided to take advantage of that tonight, because it's still a bit chilly outside and I didn't feel like just straight-up running. So I threw my hair in a fun messy ponytail and put on my cute new workout clothes. Last week when we went on a Barlow Family shopping outing at the Park City outlet mall, I enjoyed myself at the Nike store and the Adidas store, as well as the exercise areas of some other stores (Old Navy is growing their exercise clothes, who knew?), and found myself some cute workout clothes for the spring and summer. I need to get myself in great DC shape - I've skipped trying to motivate myself with 'swimsuit season;' it hasn't ever worked before, so it would've been a long shot this time. But who gets motivated when they have no cute clothes to be out in??? I sure don't. Clothes I want to spend time in get my butt to the gym or out on a run, which in turn helps me bring less butt back home. And there were some great sales, so I now have a good start on my motivational outfits.
So, I threw on some shorts and a tee, and then a light pink pullover jacket - a nice addition to my technical gear (which, if you had been with my mom at Park City, you would realize is now essential for just about every piece of clothing. Not to mention, dad can't fault you for buying it if you say it's technical - he's got enough of it, he can't question our purchases). Threw on my shoes, and I ran out the door...in more of a walking fashion, of course. I made my way to the gym and found it empty. Perfect. It gave me time to walk around a little bit, acquaint myself with the place, without looking like a total newcomer to anyone else. Then I jumped on an elliptical, played with the remote for the TV for a bit until I stumbled across the end of Wheel of Fortune. I smiled to realize Jeopardy would be on next, and I settled into a nice 10 minute warm-up. It seemed like the perfect combination: working my brain and my body at the same time! Talk about your multi-tasking.
That first 10 minutes in the gym was interesting: realized I run funny on an elliptical; felt my left hip bothering me due to funny running; refused to stop running before the 10 minutes were over out of stubbornness; answered the majority of Jeopardy questions correctly (or questioned the Jeopardy answers correctly; I suppose); missed stupid questions/answers I should've known; sighed with relief when 10 minutes ended. Then I moved to a treadmill and quickly decided two things - a. I do not like treadmills. b. I shouldn't try to set up any machine's workout programs while still trying to catch the clues given on Jeopardy. because it just doesn't work. I quickly moved to a stationary bike, hoping I'd like that better. I had to learn lesson b from above again, but I got myself going pretty smoothly this time.
I'm not the best stationary bike rider. I always want to give up after about 2 minutes. But I set my workout on the cardio setting, and I forced myself to get through another 10 minutes. I didn't realize at first that this 10 minutes would also require getting my heart rate to 157 and keeping it there. I don't last long on bikes - I almost just fell off around minute 5, as I went 'up' my 3rd 'hill' and wondered why everyone thought biking was such a great thing. Perhaps it's different on a real bike. But I don't think so.
But never fear, I forced myself to stay on that bike until it flashed 10 minutes and let up on its training course My heart rate wasn't so faithful though - it started falling a minute after I achieved the mark. So much for maintaining it.
The hardest part about exercising on a bike is that I sweat when I exercise anyway, and, as gross as it sounds, riding on a bike just makes me feel like I've peed my cute workout shorts. I'm sitting there around the 7 minute mark and I seriously have to think, "Did I really just pee my pants? Have I suddenly lost complete control of my bladder? Do I need to start wearing Depends?" I get up, wipe the seat down of my sweat (for I have finally concluded that I do still control my bladder, but not my sweat glands), smile that it really isn't very sweaty, that I was just getting over-nervous about it. But I was sweating, and my shorts still feel a little like I wet them.
And these workout shorts (not so cute when sitting on a bike, but I blame my squished thighs for that) have the built-in extra underwear/lining in them, which always seem to be bigger than the shorts they're put into. I'm really noticing their presence right now. I go and do a few sit-ups and weight machines for a few minutes, hoping to dry myself out, since a few older guys have come in and I get suddenly claustrophic with their presence. I finally decide I've done enough for my first night at the gym, and I leave, taking a quick 2 minute jog home. The cold air chills my sweat but feels generally pretty refreshing. But it makes that sweaty extra lining feel even heavier, and I can't help by feel like I'm carrying a load. So now, not only have I peed my pants, but I've also pooped them, according to how they feel. Stupid extra panties, making me question my bladder and bowel control, making me feel like an 85 year old woman. Don't worry, I've still got the control of your average 23 year old girl - only peeing my pants when I laugh too hard and only pooping them on extremely special funny occasions.
Mom thinks the extra liner might shrink when I wash them, and I'm really hoping for it. But other, asta la vista, panty. We had our fun, but if you can't change, then this can't work. You're too high-maintenance for me. I'm cutting you out of my shorts and out of my life.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
The Kind-of Glory Days
On my way home from work, I pass by West High in Salt Lake City. Today, as I passed by, I saw that their track across the street was hosting a track meet. Happiness brushed through me quickly. Then I saw the hurdles set up, taunting hesitant runners as they fought the mental battle of preparing to run 300 meters of hurdles. It took me back to my glory days. Unfortunately I don't recall any glory during my glory days. In fact, it was all rather un-glorious.
I ran the 300 hurdles for half of my Junior year, through Senior year. The hurdles made me cry more than any boy ever has (which, by powers of deduction, means I cried at least once. Probably twice, though. Which equates to about 100 times for the average girl with correctly functioning tear ducts). I was pretty good at them, but the 300 hurdles is just tough because the hurdles make the race feel so long. It's like running a mile, at as much of a sprint as you can for the whole time. I stressed myself out before every race, laughed with the other stressed out girls pre-race, and then fumed after bad races and laughed my head off after good races.
I felt a small pit in my stomach for those about to run, and then I thought that most of them probably liked running that race, the weirdos. They probably agreed to it, instead of fighting their coach for weeks about it. But hey, they can have their race. I'll just keep up a good face about it, now that it's all in the past.
But I was really happiest to see the track meet because that means it's SPRING! I loved track in high school, and I realize much of that had to do with warm weather coming back. The smell of grass and flowers. The sunshine. The lighter evenings. Yeah, there were still plenty of freezing track meets (I lived in Wisconsin - the reality of Spring didn't really match up with the concept of it), but I also have some fond memories of keeping warm under the cozy arm of a boy keeping a blanket around me, or the warming of my hands by some other boy. Yes, track meets were good to me. Who doesn't want to be in a sport that does almost everything co-ed?? There is hardly a track meet that I can remember that doesn't hold a great memory of either an event I excelled in or a fun experience with a fellow "trackie." Of course, that's probably because I wouldn't remember the ones that don't hold one such memory. But I'm going to go with the fact that they really were all just fun.
I still think back about some moments that I wish had gone differently, but perhaps that's why I can consider them my Glory Days - because I still reminisce about them. But I can gladly say I'm not stuck in them, because I realize that, even if the moments I would change were actually changed, I would still be exactly where I am right now, sitting on the couch I'm on, watching the movie I'm watching. But maybe I'd be bragging a little more in this post than I can right now. So it's probably good that things worked out exactly as they did. Because I would brag a lot more than I already do if I actually had something to brag about...
All this to say, Welcome Spring! I can't wait until you decide to be here to stay! But I had to suffer some unbearably cold Spring meets, so maybe we should let these kids go through it as well. Because they may have the same feelings toward those cold nights as I do about the hurdles, but I've heard that character building is a really good thing.
I ran the 300 hurdles for half of my Junior year, through Senior year. The hurdles made me cry more than any boy ever has (which, by powers of deduction, means I cried at least once. Probably twice, though. Which equates to about 100 times for the average girl with correctly functioning tear ducts). I was pretty good at them, but the 300 hurdles is just tough because the hurdles make the race feel so long. It's like running a mile, at as much of a sprint as you can for the whole time. I stressed myself out before every race, laughed with the other stressed out girls pre-race, and then fumed after bad races and laughed my head off after good races.
I felt a small pit in my stomach for those about to run, and then I thought that most of them probably liked running that race, the weirdos. They probably agreed to it, instead of fighting their coach for weeks about it. But hey, they can have their race. I'll just keep up a good face about it, now that it's all in the past.
But I was really happiest to see the track meet because that means it's SPRING! I loved track in high school, and I realize much of that had to do with warm weather coming back. The smell of grass and flowers. The sunshine. The lighter evenings. Yeah, there were still plenty of freezing track meets (I lived in Wisconsin - the reality of Spring didn't really match up with the concept of it), but I also have some fond memories of keeping warm under the cozy arm of a boy keeping a blanket around me, or the warming of my hands by some other boy. Yes, track meets were good to me. Who doesn't want to be in a sport that does almost everything co-ed?? There is hardly a track meet that I can remember that doesn't hold a great memory of either an event I excelled in or a fun experience with a fellow "trackie." Of course, that's probably because I wouldn't remember the ones that don't hold one such memory. But I'm going to go with the fact that they really were all just fun.
I still think back about some moments that I wish had gone differently, but perhaps that's why I can consider them my Glory Days - because I still reminisce about them. But I can gladly say I'm not stuck in them, because I realize that, even if the moments I would change were actually changed, I would still be exactly where I am right now, sitting on the couch I'm on, watching the movie I'm watching. But maybe I'd be bragging a little more in this post than I can right now. So it's probably good that things worked out exactly as they did. Because I would brag a lot more than I already do if I actually had something to brag about...
All this to say, Welcome Spring! I can't wait until you decide to be here to stay! But I had to suffer some unbearably cold Spring meets, so maybe we should let these kids go through it as well. Because they may have the same feelings toward those cold nights as I do about the hurdles, but I've heard that character building is a really good thing.
the Narrator in My Mind
I find myself writing essays or new posts in my head when I'm on my way to or from work. But I switch from idea to idea so quickly that I rarely finish a thought in my head. But I do write some pretty good things in my head. I even do editing along the way. I go back to a word that I don't want to use much, right click to pull up my mental thesaurus, realize there's not much to choose from in mine, and clean it up best I can. It's important to do this right away because what if I don't remember I wanted to change to that word or fix that phrase later? Of course, I almost always seem to forget most of what I had even thought about in the first place, so my editing seems like a moot point. (I love the word 'moot.' Everytime I hear it or use it, I think of an episode of "Friends," where Joey was trying to explain to Rachel and Monica that their argument was all a 'moo point.' When Rachel asks if he means 'moot,' Joey responds, "It's a Moo point - it's like if you ask a cow for his opinion. His opinion doesn't matter at all. It's 'moo.'" One of Joey's more rational misunderstandings. Anyway...)
I've decided it's kind of a weird habit I'm getting into. It's problematic because it's like writing something in your journal and then trying to tell the story you just wrote again, in an email to your friend. It gets tiring writing the same thing over and over again, and I've already written it once in my head. I don't want to have to do it again! But it keeps me writing, kind of, and makes me keep thinking, I guess.
The best part about going through the creative process mentailly? I feel like I've got my own narrator for my life. It's like a movie, where the main character is doing something, and their thoughts are played over it. And I often sing to myself, so I guess I have my own soundtrack as well. The best is when I get the perfect song in my head while I'm walking down the street. I start to get the swagger in my walk, my hips pick up the rhythm, and I shake my head so my hair feels the breeze a little more. Then I smile, just a little, partially because that's what the walking girl in any good music video would do, and partially because I'm laughing so hard inside my head right now at the fact that I'm acting like I'm actually in a music video, but I'm trying so terribly hard to not let any burst of laughter escape for passersby to hear.
It's the little things, really, that get me through each day.
I've decided it's kind of a weird habit I'm getting into. It's problematic because it's like writing something in your journal and then trying to tell the story you just wrote again, in an email to your friend. It gets tiring writing the same thing over and over again, and I've already written it once in my head. I don't want to have to do it again! But it keeps me writing, kind of, and makes me keep thinking, I guess.
The best part about going through the creative process mentailly? I feel like I've got my own narrator for my life. It's like a movie, where the main character is doing something, and their thoughts are played over it. And I often sing to myself, so I guess I have my own soundtrack as well. The best is when I get the perfect song in my head while I'm walking down the street. I start to get the swagger in my walk, my hips pick up the rhythm, and I shake my head so my hair feels the breeze a little more. Then I smile, just a little, partially because that's what the walking girl in any good music video would do, and partially because I'm laughing so hard inside my head right now at the fact that I'm acting like I'm actually in a music video, but I'm trying so terribly hard to not let any burst of laughter escape for passersby to hear.
It's the little things, really, that get me through each day.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
I'm IN!
I realize I'm almost a week late - but 'almost' is not 'actually,' so I think I'm safe - but I have super awesome news! On Monday, I heard back from my first school, and I was accepted into their Literature Graduate Program! American University in Washington, DC, was impressed by my application and has decided that I would be a good fit to their school, and their professors are "excited to challenge [me] academically." I'd like to see them try...seriously, I will be there to experience their efforts in challenging me. Because it's a tall order, but they think I'm able to learn, so we'll see if they can make something of me! So far, I've received the official acceptance letter, as well as a heads-up letter from the College that I would be accepted (I got that the same day and read it after the official one, oops), and an email from who I assume would be my academic advisor telling me AU was very impressed with my application and would love to have me attend. Not to shabby, American University. Not too shabby at all.
I still have my other two schools to hear back from, but American University was kind of my number one - I really want to be in DC. So now I'm just waiting to hear back for pride's sake. Is AU just dumb, or do other schools see my potential as an academic challenge? Would anyone like to put some money on that gamble? Because I'd really like it if you did...no pressure, just my ability to actually attend one of your fine educational institutions is on the line...
I still have my other two schools to hear back from, but American University was kind of my number one - I really want to be in DC. So now I'm just waiting to hear back for pride's sake. Is AU just dumb, or do other schools see my potential as an academic challenge? Would anyone like to put some money on that gamble? Because I'd really like it if you did...no pressure, just my ability to actually attend one of your fine educational institutions is on the line...
A Good Day
Today was a good day. I went to church, enjoyed my meetings, talked with some people I don't get to talk to very often, as well as some people I should talk to more often, and of course people I talk to all the time. I had a few good laughs, deep conversations, and meaningful lessons. I find church meetings usually go well, and they tend to be the highlight of my Sunday.
I also got out of church somewhat early today, which never happens. My Relief Society Presidency meetings didn't last long at all, and I came home to an empty house - I still had an hour before my parents came home from their ward (different church times...). That never happens, so I had a pleasant lunch for one, and then I went to my room, where Cat greeted me from my bed. He jumped off to say hi, followed me around my room, and then jumped back on the bed, where I had planted myself for a quick nap.
4 hours later, Cat and I got up from our "quick nap" and decided it was time for some dinner. We had dinner, and then we planted ourselves back on my bed for a bit. I spent some time upstairs holding back tears during "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" (I don't know why that show has such a hold on me! I'm a sucker for inspirational projects spurred on by touching violin music), while Cat took another nap - he gets cranky if all he gets is a 'quick' nap.
And now here I am again, sitting on my bed, Cat sleeping next to me (he's on his 7th 'quick nap' of the evening). It's beginning to become a trend, but I'm so comfortable that I'm in no rush to change it.
All in all, good day.
I also got out of church somewhat early today, which never happens. My Relief Society Presidency meetings didn't last long at all, and I came home to an empty house - I still had an hour before my parents came home from their ward (different church times...). That never happens, so I had a pleasant lunch for one, and then I went to my room, where Cat greeted me from my bed. He jumped off to say hi, followed me around my room, and then jumped back on the bed, where I had planted myself for a quick nap.
4 hours later, Cat and I got up from our "quick nap" and decided it was time for some dinner. We had dinner, and then we planted ourselves back on my bed for a bit. I spent some time upstairs holding back tears during "Extreme Makeover: Home Edition" (I don't know why that show has such a hold on me! I'm a sucker for inspirational projects spurred on by touching violin music), while Cat took another nap - he gets cranky if all he gets is a 'quick' nap.
And now here I am again, sitting on my bed, Cat sleeping next to me (he's on his 7th 'quick nap' of the evening). It's beginning to become a trend, but I'm so comfortable that I'm in no rush to change it.
All in all, good day.
Snoring
When we agreed to Cat's living with us for the next few months, Zach left out some crucial information, obviously withheld to make sure we took him. I was NOT told that Cat snores! He's sitting next to me right now (he's become one of my throw pillows, nestled right next to Penguin), and his sinuses must be plugged, because he's snoring up a storm. And earlier, I was sitting on my bed working on some things, with Cat resting in his room under my bed. I kept hearing strange snoring noises. I had to keep pausing my music to make sure it wasn't some strange background beat. I didn't believe it at first, but it was so loud, it travelled up from underneath. His performance tonight has solidified that it was indeed Cat earlier as well. Luckily, he wakes up really easily. Everytime I'd lean over to look under my bed, it woke him up and ended his snores. And he just got startled by some noises upstairs, thank goodness! I'm safe from his snores for another short while. The poor guy, it's never fun to have a stuffy nose. I sure hope he clears that up soon - or neither of us will be sleeping very well!
Pet
When we first brought Cat home, when I was about 15, he quickly got attached to his best friend, Pet - a stuffed kitten from the pound puppies collection circa 1991. It's this gray kitten, with arms and legs that go straight out and a skinny tail that goes straight up. Cat and his Pet became fast friends, and where Cat went, there went Pet also. Pet moved to St. Louis with Cat when he moved in with Zach, and then also made the relocation to Arizona soon after. I'd even go so far as to say that he transitioned to the new location faster than Cat did.
When we took Cat back for this summer, his trusty friend came along as well. Poor Pet has not aged well. Once a crisp gray tot, Pet has lost sight in one eye, has scars and wrinkles everywhere, and just can't seem to take good care of his hygiene anymore. His bowels are extremely loose - I find stuffing stuck to him in his more ashamed moments. But he's ever faithful to Cat, and Cat treats him well in return, making sure he's comfortable and noticed. He takes him to the most comfortable spots outside my door, and even invites him under my bed for a nice, peaceful nap when Cat isn't using it.
In fact, Cat takes such good care of Pet, it's beginning to encroach on some previously set boundaries between Cat and us regarding our living arrangements.
This morning, right around 5:30-6am, I was drifting between sleep and wakeful states, waiting to be woken by my brother and his family to say our 'goodbyes' and 'drive safes,' and I found myself overheating a little, despite the fan pointed directly at me. I stretched my arm across my bed in search of a cool spot, and I felt a small lump. I had kicked Cat out of my room hours previously after he began racing around my room, the catnip finally hitting him, and my little black cuddle pillow had already fallen to the floor, so I was a little concerned. I grasped for the lump and opened my left eye enough to gain blurry vision. There, staring back at me through one good eye itself, was Pet, comfortably snuggled into my bed, seemingly from a kind intention of Cat to take care of his best friend in it's old age. Not personally fearful that ol' Pet needed much warmth and comfort, I threw him across the room, silently cursing Cat for breaking the rule that no dirty pets are allowed on the bed! I then laughed to myself at the cute thoughtfulness of Cat, and then wondered how long it would take Pet to miss the luxury of a warm bed.
How real had Pet become in the last few years? I always believed that "Toy Story" was based on a true story, and my younger years convinced me that my pound puppies were actually alive, or willing to be so. Perhaps Pet had figured out on his own how to get in the bed earlier? Should I be nervous he'd attacked my bare arms, following the example of Cat? I quickly hid my toes a little deeper into my blanket.
Later this morning, after getting up and eating breakfast and coming back down to clean my room from the last week's activities, I found Pet had somehow travelled from the hallway where I had kicked him when I got up, to the other side of my bed again, poised to jump up and nestle his way into the blanket again. It freaked me out a little. I don't know how he does it, but he found his way into my room two more times today. Apparently he finds it as comfortable as Cat does. I suppose I'll let him move in here - now I've got another to blame when my room gets messy. "I swear it's not me! Pet keeps throwing my clothes everywhere! I can't make my bed right now, Pet's napping and I don't want to disturb him!" Perhaps she'll buy it.
When we took Cat back for this summer, his trusty friend came along as well. Poor Pet has not aged well. Once a crisp gray tot, Pet has lost sight in one eye, has scars and wrinkles everywhere, and just can't seem to take good care of his hygiene anymore. His bowels are extremely loose - I find stuffing stuck to him in his more ashamed moments. But he's ever faithful to Cat, and Cat treats him well in return, making sure he's comfortable and noticed. He takes him to the most comfortable spots outside my door, and even invites him under my bed for a nice, peaceful nap when Cat isn't using it.
In fact, Cat takes such good care of Pet, it's beginning to encroach on some previously set boundaries between Cat and us regarding our living arrangements.
This morning, right around 5:30-6am, I was drifting between sleep and wakeful states, waiting to be woken by my brother and his family to say our 'goodbyes' and 'drive safes,' and I found myself overheating a little, despite the fan pointed directly at me. I stretched my arm across my bed in search of a cool spot, and I felt a small lump. I had kicked Cat out of my room hours previously after he began racing around my room, the catnip finally hitting him, and my little black cuddle pillow had already fallen to the floor, so I was a little concerned. I grasped for the lump and opened my left eye enough to gain blurry vision. There, staring back at me through one good eye itself, was Pet, comfortably snuggled into my bed, seemingly from a kind intention of Cat to take care of his best friend in it's old age. Not personally fearful that ol' Pet needed much warmth and comfort, I threw him across the room, silently cursing Cat for breaking the rule that no dirty pets are allowed on the bed! I then laughed to myself at the cute thoughtfulness of Cat, and then wondered how long it would take Pet to miss the luxury of a warm bed.
How real had Pet become in the last few years? I always believed that "Toy Story" was based on a true story, and my younger years convinced me that my pound puppies were actually alive, or willing to be so. Perhaps Pet had figured out on his own how to get in the bed earlier? Should I be nervous he'd attacked my bare arms, following the example of Cat? I quickly hid my toes a little deeper into my blanket.
Later this morning, after getting up and eating breakfast and coming back down to clean my room from the last week's activities, I found Pet had somehow travelled from the hallway where I had kicked him when I got up, to the other side of my bed again, poised to jump up and nestle his way into the blanket again. It freaked me out a little. I don't know how he does it, but he found his way into my room two more times today. Apparently he finds it as comfortable as Cat does. I suppose I'll let him move in here - now I've got another to blame when my room gets messy. "I swear it's not me! Pet keeps throwing my clothes everywhere! I can't make my bed right now, Pet's napping and I don't want to disturb him!" Perhaps she'll buy it.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Aunt Cake
So my brother Ben and his family have been in town for the last week, and it's been a blast! Ben and Laura have three precious little girls: Emilie, Claire, and Grace. Or, if you'd prefer: Bug, Bear, and Bean. These girls are the sweetest, and they each have such individual personalities, which has made their visit even better - the longer they're here, the more we get to know each individual girl.
They came with some sick germs in them, but the girls have recovered wonderfully, and so far no one else has picked it up, so we're hoping the germs have been contained.
To give you a quick idea of this visit, here are some highlights:
Grace particularly sticks to 'Aunt Cake' when talking to me. Claire and Emilie can say my name correctly, though Claire will revert to 'Cake' as well, when she's in a playful mood. But Grace and I now have a great bond, coming together through speech impediments and savory treats. When Ben and Laura first got here, they told me Grace was their little Kate, because she reminds them of what I looked like as a little one. The more I hung out with her, the cuter she got, and therefore the more the resemblance showed. I definitely see "little me" in her - but mainly "little me" from the summer days. The days of rosy cheeks Kate. Back when the humidity in the air gave my hair some curl, but I was young enough that it still looked really cute (not like my older days, when it was just frizz. Blasted humidity). It's rather flattering to me to know such a darling girl is my little mini-Kate. Aside from the recklessness with which she lives life. I think I was a little more reserved, and a little less free-spirited than she is...
Well, I'm going to miss this family a ton - thank goodness they stayed this extra night, and they've pushed their take-off time back from 4am to 6am, so I stand a chance of waking up to bid them farewell (sorry Laura, 4am never stood a chance). This house is going to be quiet tomorrow. A little too quiet. Or maybe too loud. When are mom and dad going on vacation again? They've been here far too long since their last trip - almost 4 weeks now! We'll have to figure out where they can go now. If we can't have everyone at our house, then everyone must go!
They came with some sick germs in them, but the girls have recovered wonderfully, and so far no one else has picked it up, so we're hoping the germs have been contained.
To give you a quick idea of this visit, here are some highlights:
- An amazing Tuesday shopping venture. Bold in goals going in, spectacular in results coming out.
- Emilie learning how to tie her shoes, using the "super-secret" way Grammy Dette (my mom) taught her.
- Claire spending hours just spinning around and around and around and around in our living room.
- Grace singing Lady Gaga's "Paparazzi," but making it her own by changing the lyrics to Bubble, bubble. bubble wazzi."
- Laura and me trying to get 5 quickly melting shakes home, and somehow hitting every bump and dip in the road, and having every curve be extra curvy. FYI - an extra large box does NOT make transportation easier!
Grace particularly sticks to 'Aunt Cake' when talking to me. Claire and Emilie can say my name correctly, though Claire will revert to 'Cake' as well, when she's in a playful mood. But Grace and I now have a great bond, coming together through speech impediments and savory treats. When Ben and Laura first got here, they told me Grace was their little Kate, because she reminds them of what I looked like as a little one. The more I hung out with her, the cuter she got, and therefore the more the resemblance showed. I definitely see "little me" in her - but mainly "little me" from the summer days. The days of rosy cheeks Kate. Back when the humidity in the air gave my hair some curl, but I was young enough that it still looked really cute (not like my older days, when it was just frizz. Blasted humidity). It's rather flattering to me to know such a darling girl is my little mini-Kate. Aside from the recklessness with which she lives life. I think I was a little more reserved, and a little less free-spirited than she is...
Well, I'm going to miss this family a ton - thank goodness they stayed this extra night, and they've pushed their take-off time back from 4am to 6am, so I stand a chance of waking up to bid them farewell (sorry Laura, 4am never stood a chance). This house is going to be quiet tomorrow. A little too quiet. Or maybe too loud. When are mom and dad going on vacation again? They've been here far too long since their last trip - almost 4 weeks now! We'll have to figure out where they can go now. If we can't have everyone at our house, then everyone must go!
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The new 6 month resident
I'm sitting on my bed, snuggling up with my cat, loving life right now. Zach's having us catsit while they go on their crazy RV adventure, and I'm so excited! Possibly because dad does all the lame stuff like getting him food and water and cleaning his litter box while I'm at work, so I just get to enjoy the evening cuddles and head scratches, but I can't be sure.
Cat is just a cute little thing! His christian name is Oliver, but he responds to Cat, so we go with what he likes. My brother Ben and his family are in town right now, so he's been enjoying my room and the underneath of my bed more than usual this week. But this morning, I left for work with him on the top of my bed; I came home from work to him under my bed; I returned from our Church enrichment activity to him back on the top of my bed. So I pushed him over just enough to sit down, and we've been enjoying our evening together while everyone else has been out of the house.
Cat is kind of funny - he really likes snuggling and a good head scratch, but after about 5 minutes he turns to play mode, wrapping his paws around your petting hand and trying to bite your fingers off. That's the siamese in him. But he's lazy enough - the himalayan side of him - that if you move your hand away, he won't keep going after it. He'll just go back to laying down, like he's thinking, 'Okay, that was enough exertion on my part, it's completely tired me out. Thanks for the exercise.'
Aside from his skittishness, and his extensive shedding, Cat has become a welcome part of the summer household. At least to me. We enjoy each other's company quite a bit. My evening with Cat has been great, just relaxing as he goes in and out of sleep and I catch up on some other things. His breath reeks, which puts a bit of a damper on the occasion - when he yawns, I totally gag. But what can I do, I'm a sucker for his gentle purring.
But soon the children will come back, and he will sense their return about 5 minutes before the car pulls into the driveway - he's got an amazing sixth sense for knowing when scary events to himself are about to take place. He will either be dumb and dart into the main room of our basement, where the girls will begin to chase after him, or he will be smart and find shelter back under my bed again. Either way, our moment of bonding will soon be over, and that's okay. I know it'll happen again soon. What can he do, he's a sucker for a soft blanket.
Cat is just a cute little thing! His christian name is Oliver, but he responds to Cat, so we go with what he likes. My brother Ben and his family are in town right now, so he's been enjoying my room and the underneath of my bed more than usual this week. But this morning, I left for work with him on the top of my bed; I came home from work to him under my bed; I returned from our Church enrichment activity to him back on the top of my bed. So I pushed him over just enough to sit down, and we've been enjoying our evening together while everyone else has been out of the house.
Cat is kind of funny - he really likes snuggling and a good head scratch, but after about 5 minutes he turns to play mode, wrapping his paws around your petting hand and trying to bite your fingers off. That's the siamese in him. But he's lazy enough - the himalayan side of him - that if you move your hand away, he won't keep going after it. He'll just go back to laying down, like he's thinking, 'Okay, that was enough exertion on my part, it's completely tired me out. Thanks for the exercise.'
Aside from his skittishness, and his extensive shedding, Cat has become a welcome part of the summer household. At least to me. We enjoy each other's company quite a bit. My evening with Cat has been great, just relaxing as he goes in and out of sleep and I catch up on some other things. His breath reeks, which puts a bit of a damper on the occasion - when he yawns, I totally gag. But what can I do, I'm a sucker for his gentle purring.
But soon the children will come back, and he will sense their return about 5 minutes before the car pulls into the driveway - he's got an amazing sixth sense for knowing when scary events to himself are about to take place. He will either be dumb and dart into the main room of our basement, where the girls will begin to chase after him, or he will be smart and find shelter back under my bed again. Either way, our moment of bonding will soon be over, and that's okay. I know it'll happen again soon. What can he do, he's a sucker for a soft blanket.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Lightning Storms
My brother Zach and his wife Jamie are visiting us for the week, dropping off their (formerly my) cat for us to catsit for the next few months while they go on an RV adventure along the West Coast of the US. They'll have a blast on their trip, but I think cat is less enthusiastic about what this means for him. He's been skiddish for the last 2 days, and he takes to hiding quite often, currently favoring the dark and quiet of my bed's underside.
It's been fun having Z and J visit, and yesterday Z and I had a short moment of reminiscing about some of the fun times we had together, back in the day when we were both living at home in Mequon, WI. I always enjoy remembering our outings, and I thought I needed to make a record of it this time - it's probably one of my favorite memories with Z.
So here is a completely rough, first draft of my memory with Zach. It's not neat and clean, or deep and thoughtful, or really much yet. But it's a start, and I need a start in order to improve, right? So here goes:
The Midwest has great Spring storms. I was always impressed with the power of the thunder, awed by the terrible crack of the lightning, entranced by the vibrant colors of the sky. You knew a storm was coming when the sky started turning green, and everywhere you looked seemed tinted, like you were looking through green-tinted sunglasses. The breeze would pick up, rushing warmth through your hair and sending chills down your spine. Mom and I would sometimes sit in our garage for a few minutes, watching the storm roll in. Then we’d seek the comfortable shelter of our living room when the downpour started.
Spring and Summer thunderstorms were my favorite things. I loved the way the house shook slightly when the thunder broke right above us. I loved the way the sky lit up like a Christmas tree when lightning bolts flashed in unison. I loved the way the world seemed so clear after a storm rolled through, taking the fog and polluted air with it out of town.
Then there was the phenomenon of a pure lightning storm. Forget the rain, the thunder, the ominous clouds. Lightning storms could almost sneak up on you. And I welcomed the surprise.
The lightning storms were dangerous but beautiful. One summer, a softball game I was playing in was delayed so we girls and our families could find shelter from the sporadic bolts lighting up the sky. The last thing anyone wanted was for someone to get struck by a rogue bolt. That’s my first recollection of a lightning storm, and the first time I really understood the power lightning carried.
I saw its destructive ability a little while later, when I woke up one morning to a tree in my front yard split cleanly in two, straight from the top of the tree to the bottom. Sleeping like a rock, I hadn’t even known of the storm that passed through the night. The only evidence the next sunny morning was that tree, hunched over its roots, as though it just didn’t wake up with the sun. We got a new tree after that, but it was never quite the same.
We lived near Lake Michigan, about a mile from the bluffs eroded by the waves. A college was located next to the bluffs, and the grounds were perfect for falcon and hawk watching, as these powerful birds of prey came to hunt and nest. They also made a perfect place to watch the incoming storms.
My parents left for a week-long trip the summer after I turned 12, leaving me to be watched by my brother Zach, who was home for the three months between spring and fall semester at college. We didn’t make many plans for crazy adventures, but we had fun anyway. I was happy just watching my older siblings do fun things, so my amusement wasn’t ever much of a worry. But the night my parents came home, we decided we needed to do something fun, so we decided to go see a movie. Zach wanted to see the Truman Show and, of course, I decided I really wanted to see it, too. We made plans to see the 7:30pm showing, and then went to the store to collect the necessary movie snacks, before going to the movie theater. Chills of excitement ran down my spine as I walked through the parking lot to start my fun night, the warmth of the rising June wind enhancing the goosebumps that playing with my brother brought to my arms.
Though I was only 12 and the movie was more complex and deep than my young mind could fully comprehend, I was determined to enjoy it. One scene in the Truman Show found Truman on a beach, staring out at sea with wonder and fear. Rain began to fall on him, while the sounds of thunder grew louder. This was something I could understand. Lightning blazed through the sky and I was entranced.
The movie ended, Zach expressed his enjoyment of it, and I nodded in agreement - though my opinion had been formed only after knowing his. I was pretty sure I liked the movie, but I could only be positive after I heard my trusted brother’s view of it. We walked out of the movie theater into strong summer winds – very similar winds, I thought, to those Truman felt at the beach before the storm. A flash flew across the sky; our heads unconsciously lifted to the sky.
Zach suggested the best way to really appreciate this magical phenomenon was with an open sky – the perfect grand stage for the lightning to perform on. I quickly agreed, more excited than my nodding head could express.
The college was deserted when we pulled up in the parking lot. I had been nervous the whole drive, concerned the storm would be over by the time we got there. My worries were unnecessary, though, as the storm was still working toward its climax. We went over to the bluffs, our way lit by the flashlight Zach had in his car, brightened by the sporadic lightning bolts. My mind raced back to Truman, and I wondered who might be watching my life, manipulating my every move. But I didn’t really care – I liked where I was, so I didn’t mind how I got there.
We stood in silence for a bit, admiring the elegance of each flash of light, shaking slightly at the power slicing the sky open. I looked around to find a few other people had come to the bluffs with the same intent as us. We acknowledged each other with unnoticeable smiles and imperceptible nods of our heads, waves of our hands. But then we all went back to our sky gazing, entranced by the last flash of light, captivated with the hope for the next one. I couldn’t look away; there was something going on in my mind and heart that I didn’t understand, but I didn’t want to break the connection and lose that new feeling.
Finally, the flashes became weaker, with longer spaces between. Zach decided it was probably a good time to return home, and I reluctantly followed him back to the car. Light droplets of rain fell on our windshield as we drove home, the rain pushing the lightning past us. At home, I spent a few minutes longer standing in our driveway, craning my neck for one last glimpse of light, then another last glimpse of light. The power of the storm was fading. My mind not knowing what thought or feeling to settle on, I thought again of the movie I had just seen. The breeze sent a chill through my skin as I grew suddenly nervous at the darkness around me and the openness enclosing me. I turned and ran inside, the rain finally breaking the cloud barriers and pouring to the ground.
It's been fun having Z and J visit, and yesterday Z and I had a short moment of reminiscing about some of the fun times we had together, back in the day when we were both living at home in Mequon, WI. I always enjoy remembering our outings, and I thought I needed to make a record of it this time - it's probably one of my favorite memories with Z.
So here is a completely rough, first draft of my memory with Zach. It's not neat and clean, or deep and thoughtful, or really much yet. But it's a start, and I need a start in order to improve, right? So here goes:
The Midwest has great Spring storms. I was always impressed with the power of the thunder, awed by the terrible crack of the lightning, entranced by the vibrant colors of the sky. You knew a storm was coming when the sky started turning green, and everywhere you looked seemed tinted, like you were looking through green-tinted sunglasses. The breeze would pick up, rushing warmth through your hair and sending chills down your spine. Mom and I would sometimes sit in our garage for a few minutes, watching the storm roll in. Then we’d seek the comfortable shelter of our living room when the downpour started.
Spring and Summer thunderstorms were my favorite things. I loved the way the house shook slightly when the thunder broke right above us. I loved the way the sky lit up like a Christmas tree when lightning bolts flashed in unison. I loved the way the world seemed so clear after a storm rolled through, taking the fog and polluted air with it out of town.
Then there was the phenomenon of a pure lightning storm. Forget the rain, the thunder, the ominous clouds. Lightning storms could almost sneak up on you. And I welcomed the surprise.
The lightning storms were dangerous but beautiful. One summer, a softball game I was playing in was delayed so we girls and our families could find shelter from the sporadic bolts lighting up the sky. The last thing anyone wanted was for someone to get struck by a rogue bolt. That’s my first recollection of a lightning storm, and the first time I really understood the power lightning carried.
I saw its destructive ability a little while later, when I woke up one morning to a tree in my front yard split cleanly in two, straight from the top of the tree to the bottom. Sleeping like a rock, I hadn’t even known of the storm that passed through the night. The only evidence the next sunny morning was that tree, hunched over its roots, as though it just didn’t wake up with the sun. We got a new tree after that, but it was never quite the same.
We lived near Lake Michigan, about a mile from the bluffs eroded by the waves. A college was located next to the bluffs, and the grounds were perfect for falcon and hawk watching, as these powerful birds of prey came to hunt and nest. They also made a perfect place to watch the incoming storms.
My parents left for a week-long trip the summer after I turned 12, leaving me to be watched by my brother Zach, who was home for the three months between spring and fall semester at college. We didn’t make many plans for crazy adventures, but we had fun anyway. I was happy just watching my older siblings do fun things, so my amusement wasn’t ever much of a worry. But the night my parents came home, we decided we needed to do something fun, so we decided to go see a movie. Zach wanted to see the Truman Show and, of course, I decided I really wanted to see it, too. We made plans to see the 7:30pm showing, and then went to the store to collect the necessary movie snacks, before going to the movie theater. Chills of excitement ran down my spine as I walked through the parking lot to start my fun night, the warmth of the rising June wind enhancing the goosebumps that playing with my brother brought to my arms.
Though I was only 12 and the movie was more complex and deep than my young mind could fully comprehend, I was determined to enjoy it. One scene in the Truman Show found Truman on a beach, staring out at sea with wonder and fear. Rain began to fall on him, while the sounds of thunder grew louder. This was something I could understand. Lightning blazed through the sky and I was entranced.
The movie ended, Zach expressed his enjoyment of it, and I nodded in agreement - though my opinion had been formed only after knowing his. I was pretty sure I liked the movie, but I could only be positive after I heard my trusted brother’s view of it. We walked out of the movie theater into strong summer winds – very similar winds, I thought, to those Truman felt at the beach before the storm. A flash flew across the sky; our heads unconsciously lifted to the sky.
Zach suggested the best way to really appreciate this magical phenomenon was with an open sky – the perfect grand stage for the lightning to perform on. I quickly agreed, more excited than my nodding head could express.
The college was deserted when we pulled up in the parking lot. I had been nervous the whole drive, concerned the storm would be over by the time we got there. My worries were unnecessary, though, as the storm was still working toward its climax. We went over to the bluffs, our way lit by the flashlight Zach had in his car, brightened by the sporadic lightning bolts. My mind raced back to Truman, and I wondered who might be watching my life, manipulating my every move. But I didn’t really care – I liked where I was, so I didn’t mind how I got there.
We stood in silence for a bit, admiring the elegance of each flash of light, shaking slightly at the power slicing the sky open. I looked around to find a few other people had come to the bluffs with the same intent as us. We acknowledged each other with unnoticeable smiles and imperceptible nods of our heads, waves of our hands. But then we all went back to our sky gazing, entranced by the last flash of light, captivated with the hope for the next one. I couldn’t look away; there was something going on in my mind and heart that I didn’t understand, but I didn’t want to break the connection and lose that new feeling.
Finally, the flashes became weaker, with longer spaces between. Zach decided it was probably a good time to return home, and I reluctantly followed him back to the car. Light droplets of rain fell on our windshield as we drove home, the rain pushing the lightning past us. At home, I spent a few minutes longer standing in our driveway, craning my neck for one last glimpse of light, then another last glimpse of light. The power of the storm was fading. My mind not knowing what thought or feeling to settle on, I thought again of the movie I had just seen. The breeze sent a chill through my skin as I grew suddenly nervous at the darkness around me and the openness enclosing me. I turned and ran inside, the rain finally breaking the cloud barriers and pouring to the ground.
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