I hear the bells of Salzburg
Ringing for the Immaculate Conception.
Stores are closed today
in honor of the event.
Even the athletic field lights won't turn on tonight,
So instead, we toss the frisbee
back and forth
under the sunshine in the park
As couples stroll along, basking in December
The promise of a Savior
Hands wrapped around the spicy smell of Glühwein.
Showing posts with label The Outdoors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Outdoors. Show all posts
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Monday, August 29, 2011
In Which I Bring Back A Souvenir
The funny thing about work is that you have to show up every day for it. And the funny thing about having to show up every day for something is that you can't possibly look (or feel, for that matter) your best every single day.
Last year, it was the Amidala Eyebrow Incident. This year, it's hives.
And they're all over. Legs, arms, feet, hands, stomach, back, shoulders, neck, face. Everywhere.
Last weekend was the big family boating weekend up on Lake Superior, and apparently I found something in the pure nature of the Northwoods that didn't agree with me.
I'm sorry for the pouty attitude, but I'm too itchy and too tired from 4-hourly doses of Benadryl to laugh at myself much right now.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the final episodes of Gossip Girl, Season 4, and I just have to know if Chuck and Blair get together at the end. (How I wish I were joking)
Last year, it was the Amidala Eyebrow Incident. This year, it's hives.
And they're all over. Legs, arms, feet, hands, stomach, back, shoulders, neck, face. Everywhere.
Last weekend was the big family boating weekend up on Lake Superior, and apparently I found something in the pure nature of the Northwoods that didn't agree with me.
I'm sorry for the pouty attitude, but I'm too itchy and too tired from 4-hourly doses of Benadryl to laugh at myself much right now.
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm in the final episodes of Gossip Girl, Season 4, and I just have to know if Chuck and Blair get together at the end. (How I wish I were joking)
Thursday, July 28, 2011
I Went Running Today
I went running today.
I know, I know. Who is this hacker writing on Holly's blog, and why is she so crazy?
But it's true. I went running today. It's all part of my master plan. You see, I've been really trying hard to work out every single day lately. I've actually been doing so for about a month now.
(Mainly because I want to have the cardio part covered in case of a zombie invasion)
My current workouts consist of following along with DVDs: Balance ball schtuff, Tae-Bo, Denise Austin's whywon'tthiswomanstopsmiling kickboxing, Gilad's epic beach aerobics, etc. I've done it all.
The thing, is, though, I can't exactly bring my workout tapes to Austria with me. I can't exactly bounce around throwing punches in my dorm room. I can't exactly squeeze a balance ball through customs.
So, I'm running. Because it requires nothing but pavement and shoes. (And a top and shorts, please.) I found a good running plan online, designed especially for beginners. It basically has you do intervals of running and walking, alternating, and then gradually decreases the amount of walking as the weeks go by.
I kicked off said plan at a local track today. My Mother the triathlete came with. She did a triathlon last Sunday, placed 82nd out of a thousand-something people, placed second in her age group for the swimming, and she came with. She biked 15 miles this morning, and she came with.
She then proceeded to lap me around the track multiple times, barely walking at all.
Maybe I should do the rest of my training without My Mother the Triathlete. I don't know if my ego can take it otherwise.
Just kidding.
What I'm not kidding about is how hard running is. I remembered hating it in 9th and 10th gym (the last time I ran a mile), but I thought it would be different now for some reason. I thought it would be romantic; I thought the pounding of my feet and the beating of my heart and the bass in my ipod would inspire me and propel me forward. Instead, I sweated and I panted and I walked more than I ran.
But I did run a half mile. Walked about a mile. And that's okay for me, a non-triathlete.
I'll keep trying.
I know, I know. Who is this hacker writing on Holly's blog, and why is she so crazy?
But it's true. I went running today. It's all part of my master plan. You see, I've been really trying hard to work out every single day lately. I've actually been doing so for about a month now.
(Mainly because I want to have the cardio part covered in case of a zombie invasion)
My current workouts consist of following along with DVDs: Balance ball schtuff, Tae-Bo, Denise Austin's whywon'tthiswomanstopsmiling kickboxing, Gilad's epic beach aerobics, etc. I've done it all.
The thing, is, though, I can't exactly bring my workout tapes to Austria with me. I can't exactly bounce around throwing punches in my dorm room. I can't exactly squeeze a balance ball through customs.
So, I'm running. Because it requires nothing but pavement and shoes. (And a top and shorts, please.) I found a good running plan online, designed especially for beginners. It basically has you do intervals of running and walking, alternating, and then gradually decreases the amount of walking as the weeks go by.
I kicked off said plan at a local track today. My Mother the triathlete came with. She did a triathlon last Sunday, placed 82nd out of a thousand-something people, placed second in her age group for the swimming, and she came with. She biked 15 miles this morning, and she came with.
She then proceeded to lap me around the track multiple times, barely walking at all.
Maybe I should do the rest of my training without My Mother the Triathlete. I don't know if my ego can take it otherwise.
Just kidding.
What I'm not kidding about is how hard running is. I remembered hating it in 9th and 10th gym (the last time I ran a mile), but I thought it would be different now for some reason. I thought it would be romantic; I thought the pounding of my feet and the beating of my heart and the bass in my ipod would inspire me and propel me forward. Instead, I sweated and I panted and I walked more than I ran.
But I did run a half mile. Walked about a mile. And that's okay for me, a non-triathlete.
I'll keep trying.
Monday, July 4, 2011
This Year's Fourth of July
The best thing about having a blog for almost-three years is that you can look back at posts. You can say, "I wonder what the younger, dorkier version of myself was doing on this day two years ago?" And then you can check. Of course, this checking back usually does come with quite a bit of humiliation. I just hang my head at some of the things I wrote about almost-three years ago.
Luckily, though, for this post, I only had to look back one year. Not so very embarrassing. One year ago, I spent the Fourth weekend on Lake Superior. I got terribly sunburned and had to walk around Target for the next few weeks with my nose peeling gorgeously. I tried (and failed) to read Crime and Punishment.
This year has been a little different.
I woke up at 11:15 this morning (only because my alarm made me). I stayed in bed until 11:40.
I had Crispex and milk for breakfast. I cleaned my bathroom immediately afterward because Mom was coming home and I had put off doing it all weekend. I took a shower in Mom and Dad's bathroom because my shower was filled with hazardous cleaning chemicals. I watched some Cake Boss on TV.
At 2:30 I took the dogs out to run around. I brought Dear Old Hemingway with me, but didn't end up reading much; it was much more fun to chase Ruby around with the hose. And then to attempt to chase Annie as well until she got smart and cowered by the steps, where Dear Old Hemingway lay. Darn dog knew I would never risk getting a book wet. Especially a library book. Darn dog.
The family got home at 3:06 and 3:10, respectively. I was happy to see them.
Then we all sat down at the kitchen table to plot things out. We decided on mini golf, and then some sort of dinner/ice cream combo afterwards.
I won at mini golf. I also got the only hole-in-one of the evening.
But I don't talk about that.
We decided to drive to S*** for dinner, which started out being a bad idea (it was packed), and ended up being a good idea (we ate on the river and it was delicious). We then sought out a place that has ridiculously huge ice creams (I got chocolate peanut butter-best thing in the world), and nearly died of thirst on the way home (ice cream always makes you thirsty, have you ever noticed?).
Also on the way home, we drove through S*** (different S***). Mom mentioned the time when Grandma, Grandpa, Amy and I set off to go to a nearby driving range and ended up lost in S*** due to my poor sense of direction. In my defense, I was only about 11. Also in my defense, I have a poor sense of direction.
At home, we all settled down on the couch to watch Love Actually, which is actually a really great movie. I'm currently trying to decide who I love more: Hugh Grant or Colin Firth. It's a toughie, right? Witty and down-to-earth and awkward or stoic and romantic and awkward? Notting Hill or Pride and Prejudice? Will ponder this, and consider moving to Britain, where a Hugh-Colin combo platter perfect man has to be waiting for me.
Happy Fourth everyone.
P.S. It just occured to me that in my effort to *** town names for the sake of privacy, I actually succeeded in making it look like I was ***-ing out profanities. And when you read this post, mentally subbing in said profanities, it's kind of funny. Sorry. I'm immature.
Luckily, though, for this post, I only had to look back one year. Not so very embarrassing. One year ago, I spent the Fourth weekend on Lake Superior. I got terribly sunburned and had to walk around Target for the next few weeks with my nose peeling gorgeously. I tried (and failed) to read Crime and Punishment.
This year has been a little different.
I woke up at 11:15 this morning (only because my alarm made me). I stayed in bed until 11:40.
I had Crispex and milk for breakfast. I cleaned my bathroom immediately afterward because Mom was coming home and I had put off doing it all weekend. I took a shower in Mom and Dad's bathroom because my shower was filled with hazardous cleaning chemicals. I watched some Cake Boss on TV.
At 2:30 I took the dogs out to run around. I brought Dear Old Hemingway with me, but didn't end up reading much; it was much more fun to chase Ruby around with the hose. And then to attempt to chase Annie as well until she got smart and cowered by the steps, where Dear Old Hemingway lay. Darn dog knew I would never risk getting a book wet. Especially a library book. Darn dog.
The family got home at 3:06 and 3:10, respectively. I was happy to see them.
Then we all sat down at the kitchen table to plot things out. We decided on mini golf, and then some sort of dinner/ice cream combo afterwards.
I won at mini golf. I also got the only hole-in-one of the evening.
But I don't talk about that.
We decided to drive to S*** for dinner, which started out being a bad idea (it was packed), and ended up being a good idea (we ate on the river and it was delicious). We then sought out a place that has ridiculously huge ice creams (I got chocolate peanut butter-best thing in the world), and nearly died of thirst on the way home (ice cream always makes you thirsty, have you ever noticed?).
Also on the way home, we drove through S*** (different S***). Mom mentioned the time when Grandma, Grandpa, Amy and I set off to go to a nearby driving range and ended up lost in S*** due to my poor sense of direction. In my defense, I was only about 11. Also in my defense, I have a poor sense of direction.
At home, we all settled down on the couch to watch Love Actually, which is actually a really great movie. I'm currently trying to decide who I love more: Hugh Grant or Colin Firth. It's a toughie, right? Witty and down-to-earth and awkward or stoic and romantic and awkward? Notting Hill or Pride and Prejudice? Will ponder this, and consider moving to Britain, where a Hugh-Colin combo platter perfect man has to be waiting for me.
Happy Fourth everyone.
P.S. It just occured to me that in my effort to *** town names for the sake of privacy, I actually succeeded in making it look like I was ***-ing out profanities. And when you read this post, mentally subbing in said profanities, it's kind of funny. Sorry. I'm immature.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
A Few Things
A few things:
1. Boy, am I clunky when I'm tired. I must have bashed my hip against a dozen different things today at work. Aforementioned tiredness stemmed from all of our smoke alarms going off at 3:38 a.m. this morning. For no apparent reason. And then, despite there being no apparent reason (Mom and I scoured the house), I couldn't get back to sleep. I kept thinking I smelled smoke, and then I had to mentally run through my fire escape route (I'm going traditional: out the window). And THEN I had to figure out which items I would save from my room in case of a fire****. Poetry book from my grandpa, my journal, and my laptop. If I really have lots of time, I would probably go for my 'writing' drawer as well.
2. My Mom just got a Facebook. My Mom just got a Facebook and friend requested me. I must be some sort of demon child, because I'm actually thinking about whether or not I should accept. It's not like I ever put anything really private or really crazy on FB that I wouldn't want my mother to see, it's just that FB is my thing. It's a young adult thing. It's uncharted parent-kid territory. And I don't know if I want to go there.
3. I mowed the lawn for the very first time today. I've wanted to try it for years and years, but since we have a ride mower, and since our yard is hilly and perilous, the job was always better left up to Dad. However, since the lake is down so many feet, and since the grass down there (where water used to be) is fluorishing, I decided to drag the push mower down and have at it. Mowing was actually kind of fun. In fact, the only downside was that my arms started to ache after awhile because the handle (?) was way too low. Another downside would be the dead fish. Another downside would be accidently running over a dead fish and having its half-rotted skin shoot out from under the mower and hit your bare leg. Another downside would be that when you screamed, you forgot that screams echo across lakes. Another downside would be that a fisherman in a boat far away heard you and looked up at you with annoyance and then shook his head. Another downside would be that you haven't read The Old Man and the Sea, so you can't even make a brilliant allusion here. Other than those things, though, mowing was good.
4. We are finally finally finally going to see Water for Elephants. I'm even behaving and refraining from reading reviews ahead of time. When I read reviews ahead of time, I tend to get really cynical about movies. This annoys my darling sister, who likes to give even the worst films some credit. So I'm staying away from IMDB. For now.
****Note: This is assuming that all family members/pets/pets who are family members are already safely out of the house.
1. Boy, am I clunky when I'm tired. I must have bashed my hip against a dozen different things today at work. Aforementioned tiredness stemmed from all of our smoke alarms going off at 3:38 a.m. this morning. For no apparent reason. And then, despite there being no apparent reason (Mom and I scoured the house), I couldn't get back to sleep. I kept thinking I smelled smoke, and then I had to mentally run through my fire escape route (I'm going traditional: out the window). And THEN I had to figure out which items I would save from my room in case of a fire****. Poetry book from my grandpa, my journal, and my laptop. If I really have lots of time, I would probably go for my 'writing' drawer as well.
2. My Mom just got a Facebook. My Mom just got a Facebook and friend requested me. I must be some sort of demon child, because I'm actually thinking about whether or not I should accept. It's not like I ever put anything really private or really crazy on FB that I wouldn't want my mother to see, it's just that FB is my thing. It's a young adult thing. It's uncharted parent-kid territory. And I don't know if I want to go there.
3. I mowed the lawn for the very first time today. I've wanted to try it for years and years, but since we have a ride mower, and since our yard is hilly and perilous, the job was always better left up to Dad. However, since the lake is down so many feet, and since the grass down there (where water used to be) is fluorishing, I decided to drag the push mower down and have at it. Mowing was actually kind of fun. In fact, the only downside was that my arms started to ache after awhile because the handle (?) was way too low. Another downside would be the dead fish. Another downside would be accidently running over a dead fish and having its half-rotted skin shoot out from under the mower and hit your bare leg. Another downside would be that when you screamed, you forgot that screams echo across lakes. Another downside would be that a fisherman in a boat far away heard you and looked up at you with annoyance and then shook his head. Another downside would be that you haven't read The Old Man and the Sea, so you can't even make a brilliant allusion here. Other than those things, though, mowing was good.
4. We are finally finally finally going to see Water for Elephants. I'm even behaving and refraining from reading reviews ahead of time. When I read reviews ahead of time, I tend to get really cynical about movies. This annoys my darling sister, who likes to give even the worst films some credit. So I'm staying away from IMDB. For now.
****Note: This is assuming that all family members/pets/pets who are family members are already safely out of the house.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Things Get Better For Me
Sorry sorry sorry. I know I'm a slacker. But pray believe me when I tell you (with one trustworthy hand on your shoulder) that this week has been a tough week for me.
I've laughed.
I've cried.
I've done both synonymously.
I wish I were joking about the synonymously.
I had three tests this week: American Literature, Art History, and German.
The first two went well, the third I didn't take because
I gave blood on Thursday evening
And then had a slight mental breakdown
And wasn't able to study for said German exam.
I don't know if mental breakdown is what I should call what I had, and I certainly don't like writing 'mental breakdown' because it makes me sound like some sort of basket case. But what else do you call it when you're in the middle of a doubles badminton game, and suddenly you start getting really stressed out and you begin to swing back and forth between laughing and crying?
(I'm usually not a very competitive person. Sure, I like to win, but I think it's incredibly rude and tacky to act rude and tacky when it comes to competitions. So I try to behave in a more dignified manner.)
But let me tell you, I was slightly freaking out during this game of badminton. Within the space of about 3 minutes I moodswung back and forth between laughing and almost sobbing about 5 times. I also seriously considered running over and yelling at people that I hardly knew for doing things that were hardly offensive to me. Then my trusty partner and I walked back to our room and I sat on my bed and cried for a good half hour.
And I don't think it had anything to do with the badminton. I'm going to blame this one on the blood loss and lack of sleep and test stress.
Things have gotten better, though. Last night our friend Ben came up from the cities, and we all went to the on-campus Rooney concert together. I decided after the concert that the kind of music Rooney makes just isn't to my taste, but that it was fun nonetheless. Live concerts usually are.
After the concert, Ben, Maddie, and I settled down in our room with some snacks and Ben's old (and terrible) horror movies and watched and ate until we fell asleep.
This morning was the Prairie Cup, which is a Ground Quidditch tournament. UMM played the U of MN Twin Cities team. It was so cold on the bleachers, but so worth it to watch a cross country runner in gold spandex act as the snitch and run all over campus evading the two seekers. It was so worth it to watch the chasers and beaters and keepers get mud-splattered as they knocked each other around in Indy Lake (which isn't really a lake-more like a large hollow that they flood in the winter for broomball). It was so worth it to hear the announcers announce "prospies!" and then to turn around and cheer at the tour groups as they walked by. I'm certain that if I had been touring a college campus and had seen a game of Quidditch going on, I would have chosen that college on the spot.
P.S. We got 2 inches of snow last night (Friday, April 15th). On Monday, April 11th, it was 70 degrees out. Huh.
I've laughed.
I've cried.
I've done both synonymously.
I wish I were joking about the synonymously.
I had three tests this week: American Literature, Art History, and German.
The first two went well, the third I didn't take because
I gave blood on Thursday evening
And then had a slight mental breakdown
And wasn't able to study for said German exam.
I don't know if mental breakdown is what I should call what I had, and I certainly don't like writing 'mental breakdown' because it makes me sound like some sort of basket case. But what else do you call it when you're in the middle of a doubles badminton game, and suddenly you start getting really stressed out and you begin to swing back and forth between laughing and crying?
(I'm usually not a very competitive person. Sure, I like to win, but I think it's incredibly rude and tacky to act rude and tacky when it comes to competitions. So I try to behave in a more dignified manner.)
But let me tell you, I was slightly freaking out during this game of badminton. Within the space of about 3 minutes I moodswung back and forth between laughing and almost sobbing about 5 times. I also seriously considered running over and yelling at people that I hardly knew for doing things that were hardly offensive to me. Then my trusty partner and I walked back to our room and I sat on my bed and cried for a good half hour.
And I don't think it had anything to do with the badminton. I'm going to blame this one on the blood loss and lack of sleep and test stress.
Things have gotten better, though. Last night our friend Ben came up from the cities, and we all went to the on-campus Rooney concert together. I decided after the concert that the kind of music Rooney makes just isn't to my taste, but that it was fun nonetheless. Live concerts usually are.
After the concert, Ben, Maddie, and I settled down in our room with some snacks and Ben's old (and terrible) horror movies and watched and ate until we fell asleep.
This morning was the Prairie Cup, which is a Ground Quidditch tournament. UMM played the U of MN Twin Cities team. It was so cold on the bleachers, but so worth it to watch a cross country runner in gold spandex act as the snitch and run all over campus evading the two seekers. It was so worth it to watch the chasers and beaters and keepers get mud-splattered as they knocked each other around in Indy Lake (which isn't really a lake-more like a large hollow that they flood in the winter for broomball). It was so worth it to hear the announcers announce "prospies!" and then to turn around and cheer at the tour groups as they walked by. I'm certain that if I had been touring a college campus and had seen a game of Quidditch going on, I would have chosen that college on the spot.
P.S. We got 2 inches of snow last night (Friday, April 15th). On Monday, April 11th, it was 70 degrees out. Huh.
Monday, March 21, 2011
North Face
We finished the movie "North Face" today in German class.
It was about a group of climbers attempting to be the first people to scale the north face of the Eiger (a mountain in the Bernese Alps).
I guess I thought, after all the struggle, after all the frostbite and avalanches, that there would be at least a small happy ending.
But, without giving too much away, I have to tell you that there isn't.
That's what happens when you make movies based off of real life; things don't always end well.
Sometimes people die.
I walked back from class feeling sad, and I am still feeling sad. And I don't think it's because people died, exactly. It's because they tried so hard not to die, but they did anyway. The ogre that the mountain is named after managed to eat them up while they were still attached to their ropes, while they still clutched rocks.
I sat in my German class today, staring at a movie projected on a shiny whiteboard and wondered why in the world anyone would ever try to climb a mountain. People die on mountains. And not just throughout history. Not just back in the day. People die on mountains now, despite technology and despite global warming. Why would anyone risk that? Why would anyone risk their life to stand on the top of a gigantic mound of rock for a few seconds (because of course any longer and you suffocate for lack of oxygen)? I think I need someone to explain this to me sometime. I also think that maybe deep down I know the reason, but I just don't understand it. I sit on my bed and read books about mountains and I feel no desire to climb one. And I don't think that limits me. I don't feel any desire to fight against the elements. My battles are mainly mental, which is all right too.
Sometimes people die on mountains, and sometimes people die peacefully in their beds. But I wouldn't say that mountaineers have necessarily had any greater of a journey than those who die in bed. Maybe higher journeys, though.
"When you're at the bottom - Toni once told me - at the foot of the wall, and you look up, you ask yourself: How can anyone climb that? Why would anyone even want to? But hours later when you're at the top looking down, you've forgotten everything. Except the one person you promised you would come back to." -North Face (2008)
It was about a group of climbers attempting to be the first people to scale the north face of the Eiger (a mountain in the Bernese Alps).
I guess I thought, after all the struggle, after all the frostbite and avalanches, that there would be at least a small happy ending.
But, without giving too much away, I have to tell you that there isn't.
That's what happens when you make movies based off of real life; things don't always end well.
Sometimes people die.
I walked back from class feeling sad, and I am still feeling sad. And I don't think it's because people died, exactly. It's because they tried so hard not to die, but they did anyway. The ogre that the mountain is named after managed to eat them up while they were still attached to their ropes, while they still clutched rocks.
I sat in my German class today, staring at a movie projected on a shiny whiteboard and wondered why in the world anyone would ever try to climb a mountain. People die on mountains. And not just throughout history. Not just back in the day. People die on mountains now, despite technology and despite global warming. Why would anyone risk that? Why would anyone risk their life to stand on the top of a gigantic mound of rock for a few seconds (because of course any longer and you suffocate for lack of oxygen)? I think I need someone to explain this to me sometime. I also think that maybe deep down I know the reason, but I just don't understand it. I sit on my bed and read books about mountains and I feel no desire to climb one. And I don't think that limits me. I don't feel any desire to fight against the elements. My battles are mainly mental, which is all right too.
Sometimes people die on mountains, and sometimes people die peacefully in their beds. But I wouldn't say that mountaineers have necessarily had any greater of a journey than those who die in bed. Maybe higher journeys, though.
"When you're at the bottom - Toni once told me - at the foot of the wall, and you look up, you ask yourself: How can anyone climb that? Why would anyone even want to? But hours later when you're at the top looking down, you've forgotten everything. Except the one person you promised you would come back to." -North Face (2008)
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
An Appropriate Fall
I didn't sleep very well last night. Earlier in the evening, Annie (our older dog) had gotten into my Christmas stocking and eaten 3/4 of my peanut M&M's, plus part of a hand warmer (I don't know either). Thanks to Google, we learned that to make dogs throw up, you can dose them with peroxide. We did, and she threw up a few times outside before settling down on her pillow in the kitchen to gaze at us with mournful eyes.
I think the reason I didn't sleep well was because I was worried about her.
Anyway, when my alarm went off at 9:30 this morning, I was less than thrilled. In fact, I was downright cranky. Mom, Amy and I were supposed to go cross country skiing in a nearby state park, and this morning, I had absolutely no desire to go.
I had every intention of going back to sleep, when I suddenly had a thought: "you should really go, Hol."
Why should I go?
Because it'll turn out well I think.
Honestly? Right now I'm in no condition to go on some family outing. I'm tired and I'm crabby and I just want to lie in bed and pout for the rest of my life.
Just go please. You won't regret it.
Oh, fine.
So I struggled into my long underwear, wool socks, long-sleeved shirt, snow pants, jacket, hat, mittens, goggles, and boots, and we set off.
Wild Rive State Park is really a beautiful place. Even I admitted that this morning, despite my moody impatience.
We've been going there since I was little. Initially, Amy and I would just sit in our big pink sled, plump with layers, and be dragged through the woods by Mom and Dad. As we got older, though, we'd go there to cross country ski, often going on the special nights when luminaries were lined up along the trails.
It had been a while since I had seen the park, though.
In fact, it had been a while since I had skied period.
Once at the head of the trail, I clipped my boots into my skis easily enough, threading my bulky mittens through the straps on my ski poles expertly.
Amy finally managed to wrestle her own boots into her bindings, and then we started into the woods.
Not 10 feet down the trail however, and still in plain sight of the chalet filled with people, I suddenly lost my balance,
flailed my poles uselessly in the air for a few seconds,
and tipped over backwards
landing flat on my back
in the snow.
Now, still being rather cranky, my first inclination was to just remain on the ground and burst into angry, humiliated tears.
What I did instead was start laughing.
I laughed as Mom stuck her pole in my bindings to release my boots so I could stand
I laughed as Amy retrieved my own poles from where they had landed in the deep snow to my left.
I laughed as I turned to see perfect strangers laughing at me from the warmth of the chalet.
And you know what? I felt better after that.
We skied to the visitor's center to look at the fascinatingly disgusting display of pelts and stuffed birds, and then we skied back to the chalet, where we gathered our stuff and walked out to the parking lot.
I don't think I stopped laughing all day.
Sometimes I think that the reason I'm so painfully, annoyingly, incurably uncoordinated is because it helps me not to take myself so seriously.
Nothing gives you perspective quite like a good fall does.
I think the reason I didn't sleep well was because I was worried about her.
Anyway, when my alarm went off at 9:30 this morning, I was less than thrilled. In fact, I was downright cranky. Mom, Amy and I were supposed to go cross country skiing in a nearby state park, and this morning, I had absolutely no desire to go.
I had every intention of going back to sleep, when I suddenly had a thought: "you should really go, Hol."
Why should I go?
Because it'll turn out well I think.
Honestly? Right now I'm in no condition to go on some family outing. I'm tired and I'm crabby and I just want to lie in bed and pout for the rest of my life.
Just go please. You won't regret it.
Oh, fine.
So I struggled into my long underwear, wool socks, long-sleeved shirt, snow pants, jacket, hat, mittens, goggles, and boots, and we set off.
Wild Rive State Park is really a beautiful place. Even I admitted that this morning, despite my moody impatience.
We've been going there since I was little. Initially, Amy and I would just sit in our big pink sled, plump with layers, and be dragged through the woods by Mom and Dad. As we got older, though, we'd go there to cross country ski, often going on the special nights when luminaries were lined up along the trails.
It had been a while since I had seen the park, though.
In fact, it had been a while since I had skied period.
Once at the head of the trail, I clipped my boots into my skis easily enough, threading my bulky mittens through the straps on my ski poles expertly.
Amy finally managed to wrestle her own boots into her bindings, and then we started into the woods.
Not 10 feet down the trail however, and still in plain sight of the chalet filled with people, I suddenly lost my balance,
flailed my poles uselessly in the air for a few seconds,
and tipped over backwards
landing flat on my back
in the snow.
Now, still being rather cranky, my first inclination was to just remain on the ground and burst into angry, humiliated tears.
What I did instead was start laughing.
I laughed as Mom stuck her pole in my bindings to release my boots so I could stand
I laughed as Amy retrieved my own poles from where they had landed in the deep snow to my left.
I laughed as I turned to see perfect strangers laughing at me from the warmth of the chalet.
And you know what? I felt better after that.
We skied to the visitor's center to look at the fascinatingly disgusting display of pelts and stuffed birds, and then we skied back to the chalet, where we gathered our stuff and walked out to the parking lot.
I don't think I stopped laughing all day.
Sometimes I think that the reason I'm so painfully, annoyingly, incurably uncoordinated is because it helps me not to take myself so seriously.
Nothing gives you perspective quite like a good fall does.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
No Shirking in Morris
The wind in Morris isn't kind. It doesn't float past you, skip out of your way as you skuttle down the sidewalk with an armful of books. Nor does it pause to take a look at your face to gauge your reaction.
Instead, the wind in Morris cuts right through you, biting your hands through your sleeves and your legs through your jeans. It tosses your hair into a state of confusion. It bashes the back of your knees over and over until you think you're going to pitch over face first onto the still-strangely-green grass. The Morris wind does these things regardless of your mood or taste.
Some people blame the gusting wind on the fact that the city of Morris lies on the prairie. A mostly settled, farmed, beroaded prairie, but a flat grassland nonetheless. There are no hills to block the wind here.
I, however, blame the wind turbine. When you put up a turbine, in my opinion, you are just asking for this type of wind. Mother Nature is not opposed to going green. She is overly generous, rather, if one can be such a thing (and I think it's possible). In her eagerness to send the force Morris needs to turn the blades and power the campus, she sent the kind of wind I have just described. "Do not relent," Mother Nature told the wind, "they asked for you, they needed you, and you must not shirk."
There is certainly no shirking in Morris.
Instead, the wind in Morris cuts right through you, biting your hands through your sleeves and your legs through your jeans. It tosses your hair into a state of confusion. It bashes the back of your knees over and over until you think you're going to pitch over face first onto the still-strangely-green grass. The Morris wind does these things regardless of your mood or taste.
Some people blame the gusting wind on the fact that the city of Morris lies on the prairie. A mostly settled, farmed, beroaded prairie, but a flat grassland nonetheless. There are no hills to block the wind here.
I, however, blame the wind turbine. When you put up a turbine, in my opinion, you are just asking for this type of wind. Mother Nature is not opposed to going green. She is overly generous, rather, if one can be such a thing (and I think it's possible). In her eagerness to send the force Morris needs to turn the blades and power the campus, she sent the kind of wind I have just described. "Do not relent," Mother Nature told the wind, "they asked for you, they needed you, and you must not shirk."
There is certainly no shirking in Morris.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
A Walk in the Woods
I'm sitting in the basement of the library beside the wall of windows that is so distracting but so wonderfully sunlit and warm.
For an American Literature paper, I have to imagine that Edgar Allen Poe and Ralph Waldo Emerson go for a walk in the woods. I have to imagine what they would talk about.
I think, being in the woods, they would talk about nature.
Ralph would look at the beauty and the perfection and the light drifting among the tops of the trees. He would say something along the lines of: "I went into the woods and I felt, you know, sort of religious."
Edgar would see the trees as ominous and looming. He would comment on the mystery of the forest, a darkness that he couldn't quite explain.
And I, a mere observer on this extraordinary hike, would wonder how the woods came to be. I would wonder who had meandered through them for the first time, and why. I would check over my shoulder for bears, and occasionally trip over protruding roots. I would see the beauty in the branches outlined in navy blue. Finally, I would grow nervous as the sun set and the night gently dropped herself down over everything.
And then, leaving Edgar and Ralph to their discussion, I would hurry back home, pour myself a glass of orange juice, and blog about the woods I'm imagining in the library.
For an American Literature paper, I have to imagine that Edgar Allen Poe and Ralph Waldo Emerson go for a walk in the woods. I have to imagine what they would talk about.
I think, being in the woods, they would talk about nature.
Ralph would look at the beauty and the perfection and the light drifting among the tops of the trees. He would say something along the lines of: "I went into the woods and I felt, you know, sort of religious."
Edgar would see the trees as ominous and looming. He would comment on the mystery of the forest, a darkness that he couldn't quite explain.
And I, a mere observer on this extraordinary hike, would wonder how the woods came to be. I would wonder who had meandered through them for the first time, and why. I would check over my shoulder for bears, and occasionally trip over protruding roots. I would see the beauty in the branches outlined in navy blue. Finally, I would grow nervous as the sun set and the night gently dropped herself down over everything.
And then, leaving Edgar and Ralph to their discussion, I would hurry back home, pour myself a glass of orange juice, and blog about the woods I'm imagining in the library.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Washington Irving Week
"However wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in a little time, to imbibe the witching influence of the air, and begin to grow imaginative-to dream dreams, and see apparitions."
That's from Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. It's Washington Irving week in old American Literature, and the weather seems to be cooperating; it's cool and windy outside, with just enough sunshine to flit against the leaves and make them explode into yellow and orange.
No students lie out on the mall and read anymore.
Instead, they sit on benches in sweaters
and look out over the browning grass
with inexplicable wistfulness.
The air doesn't hang suspended as it did in the summer.
Now it rushes around lamp posts,
tugs at hair
and scarves,
whips five page essays across the sidewalks and into
the dusty road where cars slow but don't pause.
A feeling of frenzied excitement has settled on campus,
and we all dress for a homecoming game that we won't win,
continuing to grin at those we dimly recognize from a long-ago meeting.
We read Washington Irving,
wishing all the time that we could somehow have
the lazy knoll of Rip Van Winkle back,
while still clinging to the blowing trees
as the Headless Horseman gallops by
on the dusky road.
That's from Washington Irving's The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. It's Washington Irving week in old American Literature, and the weather seems to be cooperating; it's cool and windy outside, with just enough sunshine to flit against the leaves and make them explode into yellow and orange.
No students lie out on the mall and read anymore.
Instead, they sit on benches in sweaters
and look out over the browning grass
with inexplicable wistfulness.
The air doesn't hang suspended as it did in the summer.
Now it rushes around lamp posts,
tugs at hair
and scarves,
whips five page essays across the sidewalks and into
the dusty road where cars slow but don't pause.
A feeling of frenzied excitement has settled on campus,
and we all dress for a homecoming game that we won't win,
continuing to grin at those we dimly recognize from a long-ago meeting.
We read Washington Irving,
wishing all the time that we could somehow have
the lazy knoll of Rip Van Winkle back,
while still clinging to the blowing trees
as the Headless Horseman gallops by
on the dusky road.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Good Times With Old Friends
A Random Current Event:
I am just coming up from downstairs, where I had thrown my sheets in the washing machine, when I see that Dad is in the kitchen salting the potatoes. They're in a pot on the stove, ready to boil and be chopped and mashed for our dinner.
As I pass through the kitchen, Dad suddenly lifts the container of salt to his mouth and pours about a tablespoon in. Holding the salt between puffed out cheeks, his lips pursed comically, he turns and spots me gaping at him.
"Canker sore," he says.
I laugh. "You know Dad, we have stuff for that somewhere."
"I know," Dad replies as he spits out the salt and reaches for a glass of water. "I'm using it."
A Random Memory:
I was emptying my trash a few minutes ago, and a stray packing peanut left over from my earlier online book-buying adventures made me remember something.
It was last winter, and I was sitting in the TV lounge of Pine Hall with a bunch of my dorm mates. Someone (Bridgett, I think it was) had a package from their aunt. I don't remember what was actually in the package, but I do remember the packing peanuts.
"They dissolve in water," Bridgett's aunt had written. "Try putting them in your mouth!"
It was strange, but we passed the peanuts around and held them on our tongues, giggling as we felt them shrink into molten lumps of Styrofoam.
We didn't get any of them to completely dissolve, however, as a chemical-ly, plastic-y taste was released after awhile, forcing us to spit the soggy peanuts onto the carpet.
Interesting, but I only just realized that both of my above stories contain putting unusual things into one's mouth and promptly spitting them out...
Anyway, here's the title story for you:
Last night was the St. John's class of 2005 reunion party. To clarify, it wasn't a party, exactly; it was more of a scheduled gathering. Pioneer park. 8 p.m. Bring chips or something to share. Bonfire afterwards.
It was such a great time!
I think I had expected things to be a little awkward at first; most of us hadn't seen each other since we all graduated 8th grade. In actuality, there were only about 2 seconds in the beginning where people didn't know what to say, and then we were off like we had never been apart. Five years gone just like that.
We talked about what we were up to, we talked about who wasn't in attendance and why, but mostly we reminisced about the good old days at St. John's. And let me tell you: when you go to a Catholic school with the same kids for 9 years, you have some epic times.
After it got dark we relocated to Drew's house where they had a nice bonfire going. We sat around the fire (occasionally getting up and moving back a few yards; the boys were having fun building the flames up as high as possible) and chatted until about 2 a.m., when everyone went home.
The consensus?
1. We need to get together more often.
2. These are some of the best friends I'll probably ever have.
3. Mr. Sachariason (our English teacher 6th and 7th grade-best teacher ever) should have showed up. I wonder why he didn't?
4. Are we really going to be 20 years old? Holy cow.
5. I'm still eager to get back to school, but I'm going to miss the lazy good times of summer. I'm going to miss hanging out with the people I don't get to see at any other time.
I am just coming up from downstairs, where I had thrown my sheets in the washing machine, when I see that Dad is in the kitchen salting the potatoes. They're in a pot on the stove, ready to boil and be chopped and mashed for our dinner.
As I pass through the kitchen, Dad suddenly lifts the container of salt to his mouth and pours about a tablespoon in. Holding the salt between puffed out cheeks, his lips pursed comically, he turns and spots me gaping at him.
"Canker sore," he says.
I laugh. "You know Dad, we have stuff for that somewhere."
"I know," Dad replies as he spits out the salt and reaches for a glass of water. "I'm using it."
A Random Memory:
I was emptying my trash a few minutes ago, and a stray packing peanut left over from my earlier online book-buying adventures made me remember something.
It was last winter, and I was sitting in the TV lounge of Pine Hall with a bunch of my dorm mates. Someone (Bridgett, I think it was) had a package from their aunt. I don't remember what was actually in the package, but I do remember the packing peanuts.
"They dissolve in water," Bridgett's aunt had written. "Try putting them in your mouth!"
It was strange, but we passed the peanuts around and held them on our tongues, giggling as we felt them shrink into molten lumps of Styrofoam.
We didn't get any of them to completely dissolve, however, as a chemical-ly, plastic-y taste was released after awhile, forcing us to spit the soggy peanuts onto the carpet.
Interesting, but I only just realized that both of my above stories contain putting unusual things into one's mouth and promptly spitting them out...
Anyway, here's the title story for you:
Last night was the St. John's class of 2005 reunion party. To clarify, it wasn't a party, exactly; it was more of a scheduled gathering. Pioneer park. 8 p.m. Bring chips or something to share. Bonfire afterwards.
It was such a great time!
I think I had expected things to be a little awkward at first; most of us hadn't seen each other since we all graduated 8th grade. In actuality, there were only about 2 seconds in the beginning where people didn't know what to say, and then we were off like we had never been apart. Five years gone just like that.
We talked about what we were up to, we talked about who wasn't in attendance and why, but mostly we reminisced about the good old days at St. John's. And let me tell you: when you go to a Catholic school with the same kids for 9 years, you have some epic times.
After it got dark we relocated to Drew's house where they had a nice bonfire going. We sat around the fire (occasionally getting up and moving back a few yards; the boys were having fun building the flames up as high as possible) and chatted until about 2 a.m., when everyone went home.
The consensus?
1. We need to get together more often.
2. These are some of the best friends I'll probably ever have.
3. Mr. Sachariason (our English teacher 6th and 7th grade-best teacher ever) should have showed up. I wonder why he didn't?
4. Are we really going to be 20 years old? Holy cow.
5. I'm still eager to get back to school, but I'm going to miss the lazy good times of summer. I'm going to miss hanging out with the people I don't get to see at any other time.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Sleep Aids
I haven't been sleeping well lately. I go to bed at around 1 a.m., and I wake up around 11 a.m., which sounds like a solid amount of sleep, although it's not considering that in between those two times I wake up continually. When my alarm goes off at 11, I'm not tired, exactly; I simply feel like I missed out on sleep, like my brain isn't fully satiated. It's very similar to the feeling you get when you're incredibly thirsty, but you can only have a small glass of water. It doesn't quite hit the spot.
I wasn't sure why exactly I wasn't sleeping well until my mom suggested today that maybe it's because I haven't had enough mental stimulation. That kind of makes sense. Thanks, Mom.
I mean, think about it: I went from going to class every day and having to concentrate and take notes and grasp the material and then go back to my dorm and study for hours, to sitting around and reading and watching TV and working maybe 30 hours a week on average. My work can be stressful, sure, but at this point I know enough about what's going on that I have to concentrate a lot less.
How to get that mental stimulation back? Well, I have a few ideas.
Idea No. 1: Begin teaching myself German.
My Dad has old German textbooks around somewhere, and I found a great free language teaching website called livemocha that is very helpful. I am taking German 1 in the fall, but it certainly can't hurt to get a bit of a head start.
Idea No. 2: Write more.
I haven't worked on any of my stories for a few days. I should definitely get back on that.
Idea No. 3: Run around outside more.
I work so much that I don't really have time to get much exercise, or even to be out in the fresh air. I should take advantage of the time I have at home and go for a bike ride or something.
I wasn't sure why exactly I wasn't sleeping well until my mom suggested today that maybe it's because I haven't had enough mental stimulation. That kind of makes sense. Thanks, Mom.
I mean, think about it: I went from going to class every day and having to concentrate and take notes and grasp the material and then go back to my dorm and study for hours, to sitting around and reading and watching TV and working maybe 30 hours a week on average. My work can be stressful, sure, but at this point I know enough about what's going on that I have to concentrate a lot less.
How to get that mental stimulation back? Well, I have a few ideas.
Idea No. 1: Begin teaching myself German.
My Dad has old German textbooks around somewhere, and I found a great free language teaching website called livemocha that is very helpful. I am taking German 1 in the fall, but it certainly can't hurt to get a bit of a head start.
Idea No. 2: Write more.
I haven't worked on any of my stories for a few days. I should definitely get back on that.
Idea No. 3: Run around outside more.
I work so much that I don't really have time to get much exercise, or even to be out in the fresh air. I should take advantage of the time I have at home and go for a bike ride or something.
Monday, May 31, 2010
I Pulled Into Nazareth, I Was Feelin' About Half Past Dead
Good Evening readers! I started my last post with a salutation, and it sounded so polite that I had to do the same tonight. No rhyme intended.
My memorial weekend was phenomenal, as a matter of fact. I read about six books all the way through (though in all fairness, they were all under 250 pages, and I had previously read five of them), sat in the sun, and generally lazed around the boat and the lake and the island. I also got my first sunburn of the season; it's an unfortunate one that outlines perfectly the shirt I was wearing.
I started writing a few minutes ago. A short story, I think. That is, I hope it will develop into a full-fledged short story. I got my inspiration for it in an interesting way, actually. I was standing at the refrigerator searching for raspberries (which were, it turns out, sitting on the counter behind me), when I suddenly got that strange feeling like someone was watching me. I looked behind the refrigerator door, and peered into the dim hallway to the left of me, but of course no one was there. It wasn't an eerie feeling, really, now that I think about it. It just felt like someone was watching me the way you watch a home video; looking for the people you know and smiling at things you barely remember.
Strange, huh? Good story material, huh?
I also watched the movie Big Chill earlier today. I've been listening to the soundtrack for ages; my mom has it, and it's a great compilation of everything I like about oldies music. Anyway, I finally got around to watching the actual movie. The verdict? It was fun to watch. It felt like all of the actors really were old friends reunited. And although it got slow at times, and my favorite part was still the music, it had a realism to it that I thought was really special.
My memorial weekend was phenomenal, as a matter of fact. I read about six books all the way through (though in all fairness, they were all under 250 pages, and I had previously read five of them), sat in the sun, and generally lazed around the boat and the lake and the island. I also got my first sunburn of the season; it's an unfortunate one that outlines perfectly the shirt I was wearing.
I started writing a few minutes ago. A short story, I think. That is, I hope it will develop into a full-fledged short story. I got my inspiration for it in an interesting way, actually. I was standing at the refrigerator searching for raspberries (which were, it turns out, sitting on the counter behind me), when I suddenly got that strange feeling like someone was watching me. I looked behind the refrigerator door, and peered into the dim hallway to the left of me, but of course no one was there. It wasn't an eerie feeling, really, now that I think about it. It just felt like someone was watching me the way you watch a home video; looking for the people you know and smiling at things you barely remember.
Strange, huh? Good story material, huh?
I also watched the movie Big Chill earlier today. I've been listening to the soundtrack for ages; my mom has it, and it's a great compilation of everything I like about oldies music. Anyway, I finally got around to watching the actual movie. The verdict? It was fun to watch. It felt like all of the actors really were old friends reunited. And although it got slow at times, and my favorite part was still the music, it had a realism to it that I thought was really special.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Me Write Pretty Some Day
I'm well aware that my writing is not always what you might call 'polished.' People have told me so. And while I like to think that in my blog I write the way I talk, and that when I write papers and such I tread more gracefully, I want to give you a taste of my 'pretty' writing. Okay, okay, so this is mainly to prove to myself that I can do it. Actually, not even that. I know I can do it. I just want to do it here. So here goes (p.s. the repetition of the word 'here' was intentional). Now I sound arrogant. You know, maybe I should make use of the backspace key right about now. But no. All of this nonsense will help me prove my point. Here we go again (more 'here' repetition? Jeez, who does this kid think she is?):
There are few moments of intense clarity in our lives. All other moments, the ones we bathe in and swear in and try to work out impossible calculus problems in, are simply part of the muddle. I fancied myself in a rare moment this afternoon, when I went down to the dock to read.
I lay down gradually; I started out sitting with crossed legs, book propped against my ankles, and I slowly slumped until I was sprawled on my stomach. Turning to the side a bit, the cool metal against my cheek balanced out the sun blazing in my hair. It was a lovely day, and I wondered if anyone would happen to look out and grin with approval at the teenager improving her mind amongst nature.
I always liked the word grin. There was an entire image associated with it. For example, in order to really truly grin, you had to have your face to the wind. Your solid-colored t-shirt had to be blowing back against your chest. You had to be standing on either a hill or some sort of elevated object. You had to have your lips pressed flat to gums, and your teeth had to be glinting.
I pondered all of this while the swallows flitted by and gingerly dipped blue wings into blue water.
Every so often there would be a loud splash, and my head would lift in time to see two dragonflies (apparently attached somehow-this I didn't dwell on) buzzing away. How such small insects could create a splash equivalent to that of a small child doing a cannonball was beyond me.
I only went up when the dogs were whining so loudly in their kennel that the waves lapping against the shore seemed darker than usual.
I think, as I rest dirty legs against clean blankets on my bed, that the clarity has left me. I could go down to the dock again, I suppose. I could look out at the water and imagine myself very knowledgeable indeed. But it's too dark to see anything now; the swallows would peer down at me with sleep-heavy eyes and chuckle dreamily to themselves. Silly girl, she thinks she knows us.
Tomorrow they'll let me back, though. I'll sit there for hours, tanning arms around knees. I'll sit there until I can see straight to the bottom.
There are few moments of intense clarity in our lives. All other moments, the ones we bathe in and swear in and try to work out impossible calculus problems in, are simply part of the muddle. I fancied myself in a rare moment this afternoon, when I went down to the dock to read.
I lay down gradually; I started out sitting with crossed legs, book propped against my ankles, and I slowly slumped until I was sprawled on my stomach. Turning to the side a bit, the cool metal against my cheek balanced out the sun blazing in my hair. It was a lovely day, and I wondered if anyone would happen to look out and grin with approval at the teenager improving her mind amongst nature.
I always liked the word grin. There was an entire image associated with it. For example, in order to really truly grin, you had to have your face to the wind. Your solid-colored t-shirt had to be blowing back against your chest. You had to be standing on either a hill or some sort of elevated object. You had to have your lips pressed flat to gums, and your teeth had to be glinting.
I pondered all of this while the swallows flitted by and gingerly dipped blue wings into blue water.
Every so often there would be a loud splash, and my head would lift in time to see two dragonflies (apparently attached somehow-this I didn't dwell on) buzzing away. How such small insects could create a splash equivalent to that of a small child doing a cannonball was beyond me.
I only went up when the dogs were whining so loudly in their kennel that the waves lapping against the shore seemed darker than usual.
I think, as I rest dirty legs against clean blankets on my bed, that the clarity has left me. I could go down to the dock again, I suppose. I could look out at the water and imagine myself very knowledgeable indeed. But it's too dark to see anything now; the swallows would peer down at me with sleep-heavy eyes and chuckle dreamily to themselves. Silly girl, she thinks she knows us.
Tomorrow they'll let me back, though. I'll sit there for hours, tanning arms around knees. I'll sit there until I can see straight to the bottom.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Final
I just sniffed my shirt. I smell like smoke and the outdoors. Perfect.
Today was the Pine Hall Picnic. It was really fun. Kelsie and I worked the grill, and everyone just chilled and ate. Later on we took a Pine photo with all of the residents and CA's crammed onto the stairs/fire escape.
We limboed
We danced
We walked casually through each other's photo shoots
We joked
We chased stray wrappers across the mini mall
The best part,though, was the fact that everyone was together enjoying themselves. All the drama and cliques sort of melted away and we became one hall again.
It's 4:01 p.m. and I'm finally about to buckle down and study for my finals. I have Brit. Lit. and Crusades on Monday, and Physical Anthropology on Wednesday.
It was definitely worth it to hang out outside for awhile, though. Studying can be done later, but having a blast with people you're going to miss over the summer is a one time deal.
Today was the Pine Hall Picnic. It was really fun. Kelsie and I worked the grill, and everyone just chilled and ate. Later on we took a Pine photo with all of the residents and CA's crammed onto the stairs/fire escape.
We limboed
We danced
We walked casually through each other's photo shoots
We joked
We chased stray wrappers across the mini mall
The best part,though, was the fact that everyone was together enjoying themselves. All the drama and cliques sort of melted away and we became one hall again.
It's 4:01 p.m. and I'm finally about to buckle down and study for my finals. I have Brit. Lit. and Crusades on Monday, and Physical Anthropology on Wednesday.
It was definitely worth it to hang out outside for awhile, though. Studying can be done later, but having a blast with people you're going to miss over the summer is a one time deal.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)