A Southern Journey

I am alive. I may be in GA, but I am alive. I'm not quite sure what this post is going to contain, but I felt like writing something while I can because we don't have internet access where we're staying.

Sooo, we left a week ago Wednesday. It was chilly, and the snow was on the ground (I forget how much). We scrambled into the gray 15 passenger van, waving and blowing kisses to the many smiling faces who were there to see us rumble off.

"They look so happy to see us go," someone commented, and we were inclined to agree. But we didn't care. We were going South. And they were not. And thus began our journey.

And so we watched to snow melt little by little as we covered the miles, and when our chance came we would leap out of the van expecting it to have suddenly turned balmy outdoors. It never really did.

In a nutshell, we went to PA, where I got to see my favorite 22-year-old basketball and volleyball player. I even got to hang around his college for an hour or two, watching his volleyball practice, reading David Copperfield, watching students waltz by me as they came in or out of the dorm, or listening to some girls mope around waiting for they're guy friends to come out from rearranging the furniture in their dorm room ("Have you ever counted the tiles on the ceiling?" Later, the other one answered, "There are 87 of them." "Did you just count them? You're a loser. You're the biggest loser I ever knew.") A couple people were even watching The Office, which I caught bits and pieces of, but mostly I just heard this one guy chortle like a girl.

In a lull, one of the bored guys watching the above said movie moaned. "There's nothing to do. There's nothing to do . . . . . . . Well, there's homework, but that's not due until . . . . . yet." And thus you can see why I form this opinion: that a lot of time is wasted in college.

So much for the nutshell.

Well, the next day the nine of us (six third-years, my parents, and me) drove on down to D.C. and stopped for awhile in the National Cathedral to do some praying, before heading on down to the Lackies in VA. And here I will just put in that if you haven't been the National Cathedral, you should sometime. I'm sure there are many better cathedrals in the world, but it's still worth going to if only just once in you're life. Also, I love stained glass.

Finally, on Friday we got up early-ish and set out for the aprox. ten-hour drive on down to GA. And while I'm talking about traveling the car, we indulged ourselves in fantastic games such as Old Maid and Phase Ten, which as proved to be a never ending saga since we've played it in at least four sessions and still haven't quite managed to get to the end (Dave just barely reached phase ten today).

And since we've got here (I have to go shortly so that Vanlora can get her computer back to work on her resume), we've done all kinds of great things. I've had the joy of shooting my first 22 pistol, getting creamed in Draw One by my mom, Bria, and Mrs. A, blowing the shofar, hanging out at Claire's, watching Andrew blow bubbles with bubble soap in his mouth, going to Last Chance on its half price sale, playing ultimate football, basketball, plus around the world, and I've even brushed my teeth from the balcony and spat it into the kitchen sink one story below. That all may not have been grammatically correct, but you'll understand that I'm stuffing in lots right now (never know when I'll do this again!). Of course I've also gotten to do lots of school and I'd nearly forgotten what it's like to live with bibleschool students and see them so much you're practically but sick of them (just kidding!!! I love the third year class so much, but you'll understand if we're not buddy buddy every minute). So far a fabulous time. Can't wait to play games at the Turners tomorrow and climb Stone Mountain on Saturday!

p.s. this post has had little to no editing, so forgive any typos.:)

Three Random Moments

1. Crawling into bed and trying to figure out why I had peanut butter on
my toes.

2. Grabbing for my new shower puff and it practically melting in my
hands. Now instead of a neat, compact ball, I found to my bewilderment
that I was holding about eleven feet of blue stuff.

(and finally, today)

3. Trying to be safe by cracking an egg over the sink and realizing just
as it disappeared down the drain that I hadn't meant to do it quite that
way. (That was as I was in the middle of a conversation with my mom I'll
have you know!)

Flipping over weekends

Well, once again I've been wanting to post something fresh for awhile, but sometimes the computer just seems like a big waste of time. So I'm going to waste more of it by writing something now.

 

 

Hmm . . . highlights from my life lately. Well, I went sledding with the bibleschool at the golf course a couple weeks ago, which was kind of exciting, and oh yeah, Ben found out that his appendix burst some time ago, but naturally that's old news by now (pardon me as I say that so casually). Poor Ben.  He drove himself to the emergency room (of course no one knew anything was seriously wrong with him at the time, but his parents wanted him to get checked out) and had to get a tube put in his stomach to drain the poison out. Actually, if it weren't so drattedly scary and serious, it was kind of funny to see him walking around with a Target back dangling from his side after he got back from the hospital. We also made a welcome home sign for him. Craig outlined it and filled in the "W," but Ben came back earlier than expected, and since all the guys wanted to be with him it was up to the girls (including me and Kimberly) to finish it. It was a pretty cool sign, too. One letter was decorated with camou, another was made to look like a frosted donut, and a third was a picture of the radio station way up in the woods with a snow mobile. I endeavored (and I still can hardly believe I did this) to follow up on a combination of my and (mostly) other's ideas by making a "C" look like a pink large intestine, with a swollen (and very red) appendix at the end of it, which had blotches of dark green oozing out of it, and from it led a tube filled with this same unpleasant color to the following letter "O," which was half full of the sinister (and disgusting) looking poison, with some very fake-looking yellow bubbles popping towards the surface. Unlike many of the other girls, I did NOT sign my name with this--it was all so gross that I wasn't sure I wanted myself to be identified with it. To make up for it, however, I decorated the "N" (in Ben's name) with a Spiderman theme, and since it turned out kind of well, I signed my name next to that.

 

 

Flipping onto the next weekend (my weeks go by in a sort of blur), most of the men at Fairwood were gone to Florida for a men's retreat, so my mom ruled the roost while on duty, with lots of moral support from Gerry of course. So anyway, Friday night we had some intense games of Maufia. And I've decided that I'm not very good at that game. Well, sometimes I had people (like Bria) fooled when I was in the Maufia, but I pretty much failed to be on the winning side every single game, even when I was the sheriff. Sometimes I was astonished at how good people were at lying though. All these people, who are perfectly honest Christians every day, can be remarkably deceiving when they need to be. Which makes me thankful that these people are honest in real life, or I would never know whether or not to trust them. Dave and Bria had me especially scared when I was the sheriff. I had found out in the night that Dave was in the Maufia (after I had thought that he wasn't) and when I accused him, he so sincerely seemed to think that the moderator (who was Diane) had made a mistake that I almost began to doubt myself. And even Bria was very crafty, teaming up with Aaron (who was innocent) in trying to figure out who the Maufia were and staunchly wanting to protect the citizens.

 

 

In one game, however, a particular quote sticks in my mind. We were trying to figure out whether or not Kate S. was in the Maufia, and if so why didn't she vote to kill so-and-so in this situation?

 

 

"That's because she's a vegetarian," Josh said. Hmm. Yep, I'm sure the Maufia are cannibals.

 

 

I also had a privilege to re-watch Wives and Daughters with some of the bibleschool girls. What is Wives and Daughters? Just one of the sweetest movies in the world, that's all. If you're a Jane Austen fan, you'll love it, even though she didn't write it. Anyway, watching it this time was a little bit different. For one thing, it was a little noisy. You see, my family does very little talking while we watch movies. I discovered as a kid amongst practically grown-up siblings that many questions and comments were not appreciated, so I learned to shut up, keeping my confusion to myself and just filling in the blanks as best I could, saving my questions (if I could remember them) until after the movie. And that's how I've mostly grown up, with some exceptions here and there, as I gradually learned that my siblings sometimes didn't catch whole phrases either and it was okay to ask what someone had just said as long as I didn't do it too often. Not that we never talk or have fun while watching movies, but just not very much.

 

 

With all that in my background, I watched Wives and Daughers with a few of the bibleschool girls. Kate S, Vanlora, Virginia, and Rachel were among those who sat in our living room to imbibe this wonderful tale with kicking chuckles (one of them did have the odd habit of kicking her dangling feet whenever she laughed). I would say they were watching in breathless silence, but that would not quite be true.

 

 

"I LOVE her dress," one would say.

 

"Ugh, I hate her dress."

 

"Oh, I'm so excited!" (this was as the hero came back on the scene)

 

"Scum!" Vanlora would cry whenever Mr. Preston was around.

 

"She's such a brat," (or words to that effect).

 

"Aw, he can't die!"

 

"I love that actress."

 

"Scum!"

 

"Isn't that the short guy from Pirates of the Caribbean?"

 

"Yeah, and he's also in _____ as _____" (I can't remember what random movie it was)

 

"Oh my word! Their hair is so ridiculous! Why would they want it that way?"

 

"He's a snob," (right after someone had barely entered the scene, and who, in my opinion, is not a snob)

 

"Scum!"

 

"Someone definitely has a problem with gluttony."

 

Etc., etc., etc. You get the picture.

 

 

And on we go to this weekend. My brother is playing volleyball!!! Clyde's recent dream has now come true.

 

 

"Eh?" you may say. "I thought he was playing basketball." And you're right. The fact is, my dear reader, he's doing both. Crazy, crazy. He actually had thought fondly of the idea of seeing if the basketball coach would let him go so he could just play volleyball, but, like the good sport he is, he decided he didn't want to be a quitter, so he chose not to. But, as if God was rewarding him for his diligence, God spiked the volleyball option right into his lap as well. (and that was the dumbest pun ever) Apparently, from what I've gathered, a couple of volleyball players on the team at his college dropped out, leaving just a measly number of five guys on the team. Here was a problem. They couldn't play with just five guys, and their first game was in less than a week! Knowing that Clyde was a pretty decent volleyball player, the coach came to appeal to my 22-year-old sibling. And what did he do? Say, "Sure, coach, this is the perfect excuse I've been looking for to quit anyway." No way! My brother told him that he'd like to but he didn't want to quit the basketball team. In reply, the volleyball coach told him that he didn't need to look at it that way, and then struck up a deal with the basketball coach. Hence, Clyde is doing both.

 

 

And what does that have to do with this weekend, which is now practically behind us? Clyde had his first volleyball game yesterday in Cambridge, Massachusetts--just two hours away from us.

 

 

Of course we went to it.

 

 

So, getting up early (for a Saturday morning) at around seven o'clock, Mom, Craig, and I set out, picking up Cara along the way. We drove an hour and forty minutes or so, took the T, the bus, and the icy sidewalk the rest of the way. Actually, it took quite awhile to get to where we wanted to go, because after we left we found out that the game wasn't at the college we had thought it was at, but at a highschool, since Leslie University doesn't have a gym. So, by stopping to look at maps on the walls of the T station and asking for directions multiple times, we eventually managed to get there.

 

 

CLYDE'S TEAM WON ALL SIX GAMES IN A ROW!!!! The closest game they played was only 30-23. One would have thought that the team had been practicing together for weeks instead of less than one, and they all seemed to have such great attitudes (though maybe it helped that they were ahead most of the time) and were so put together that I loved them all on the spot. Well, maybe. The only time I had been to a volleyball game outside of the Fairwood gym was in Australia, so this was a new experience for me. And because of it, I have to be careful when I say how talented the guys might have been, because I really haven't seen very many volleyball games to know for sure. Still, for such a small college, they were very impressive indeed. And Clyde was awesome (blocking, spiking, serving, faking), but I'm more than a little biased. Sure, he made mistakes, but then so did the other guys.

 

 

So now I'm all inspired about volleyball. And I learned some new things, too. Like about faking. I was trying to figure out why Clyde, who was often in the front middle in order to block (he towers above the other guys), kept jumping during a set to one of his teammates. Um, Clyde, we know it's not going to you, so why are you jumping? I suspected it was more than just to look stupid or because he was ignorant ("rats, I jumped up and discovered that the ball wasn't close enough for me to spike!"), and when I asked Craig to confirm these suspicions, he told me that he was "faking." That way the other team might be stupid enough to think that he was the one hitting it and expect the ball to come from his direction. Sounds dumb, but it's not a bad strategy. Also I enjoyed watching the guys leaping about to block, and well, I guess I enjoyed everything else about it to. And when the game was over, my favorite part was when each team jogged up the side lines and down both sides of the net to slap five underneath it. This is probably done by all real volleyball teams for all I know, but I'd never seen it before so it was cool to me.

 

 

Afterwards we hung around, chatting with Clyde and meeting his coach and his teammates as they waited for their pizza to arrive. Then they were gone, and we were on our way to trek it home. It was made easier by a mom at the game who offered to give us a ride to Harvard Square, so we piled gratefully into her car and hopped on the T. Interestingly enough, the last time I was on one was in Melbourne, so it brought back a wave of memories. I even scrutinized the people around me and imagined them talking with Australian accents, but it wasn't quite the same. But the sights and sounds excited me still, as I caught a whiff of someone's breakfast or coffee, or listened to a guitar playing Pachabel, or laughed as a clarinet played When Johnny Comes Marching Home, changing the ending to some nearly unrecognizable minor ditty, or trying to play the Star Spangled Banner and having to start over again. The large Goth person blasting his ears out, the friendly blonde woman with the large sleek dog, a couple of people chattering in Spanish, the old man who accidentally pulled one of my hairs as he gathered up his bags, the guy with the tennis racket sticking out of his backpack between his knees while he read The Intellectual Devotional, and many others made people watching very engaging. Though of course you had to do it covertly, hoping that no one would notice and trying to look as innocent as possible. That's the T.

 

 

I leave for the South in three days!