perspicacious?

This is the current view from where I am sitting at the table in our common room. Amid piles of books, blankets, and pillows, Clair is cat-napping on the couch. She came in from reading in the library this morning with a look in her eyes that I know all too well–the one that says “I’m going to crash as soon as I take my feet off the floor.” It is not unusual to find sleepers in our room, their homework hanging from their fingers in academic surrender, or sitting on the table untouched altogether. Depending on the napper, they’ll wake up 10 minutes or 2 hours later, bleary-eyed and mumbling something about how many pages they have to read. It feels like an endless battle between the rock-hard requirements of our syllabi, and the slightly more malleable demands of our exhausted bodies. Even now, a stack of pages to my right is relentlessly calling my name. Clair has awakened, Beth has returned, and all eyes are homework-bound. We are spent today, and you can see it in the pure determination in their faces–willing the eyelids not to close, working against gravity in an attempt to make the price-tag on this education worthwhile.

And I think it is time well spent. I am more well-read now than ever before, and I have developed a literary persistence that keeps turning pages even when I’d rather scrub the cafeteria with a toothbrush than read another word by Adam Smith. That has to be useful somehow, right?.

Even if it isn’t, at least I can say that I never fought alone.

Well, I am alive. Six months of nothing for my own darling blog page, and I am making a comeback.

I promise I didn’t stop writing. I actually wrote just the same, but elsewhere. If you are interested, the proof may be seen here. I wrote all the blogs for a missionary team that traveled to Liberia, Africa, at the end/beginning of 2009-10. Not only did I write for the team, I was actually a part of it, and it was the adventure of a lifetime. I didn’t know until sometime in August that I’d be writing there, and I decided to let it take me away from Perspicacious entirely for a short time. Thanks to a few very persistent and encouraging (and slightly agitated) friends, I have found that I can’t stay away. I also did not want to. I love this little space.

So where to begin? It would not be enough to say that a lot has taken place since the last time I wrote here; multitudinous meaningful occurrences have taken place in these six months, more than could be captured here. I finished a journal in October, though, and am 60% through a new one already, so at least some part of what’s been happening in my life has been written down. That’s something, I think, to speak for the productivity of this July-to-January gap. Finishing a journal is big business in my world, right up there alongside free food, clean clothes, and getting all my homework done on time. Perhaps it’s not a thrilling life, but it is an enjoyable one, and I live it in the company of others who appreciate the same kinds of small-but-happy things as myself. Like when my roommates and I all accidentally wore nearly the same outfit to brunch on Sunday morning.

Some of you, perhaps, would run from such social blunders as this. We, however, sprinted unhesitatingly in the direction of complete coordination, 90’s girl-band style, and we were giggling like children all the way to the cafeteria. I love my roommates. That has not changed in six months. Here are a few more seemingly immutable facts of my life:

1. Clarence and Clementine.

Our fish children. Ironically, Clementine is the white one. She was orange when we got her. No, we do not always keep them in a carafe– it was temporary, photo shoot housing only. We have had these guys since October-ish of 2008, and I am proud to say that they are still happily coexisting in spite of our somewhat “hands off” approach to parenting. I deny all accusations relating to the idea of Clarence having been replaced over the summer due to my inadequacies as a mother. It’s not my fault he looked a lot bigger in August than May. Fish grow sometimes. Sue me.

2. Running.

I still love it. I spent last semester training for my first ever half marathon, a slightly terrifying but terribly wonderful experience. When I started running in March of 2008, 2 miles felt like an accomplishment to be shouted from the rooftops. Simultaneously, I despaired of ever being able to run more than 5 miles, much less did I ever expect to do so without collapsing. Needless to say, I have come a long way since then, both literally and otherwise. From August to November, I spent a lot of hours listening to the collision of rubber soles on pavement–a sometimes maddening, but inexplicably wonderful sound. I trained with the Atlanta Track Club 1/2 Marathon Crew, which is made up a small contingent of experienced coaches, a slightly larger number of trained athletes, and a majority group of eager, terrified, fresh-faced new guys like myself. We followed a schedule during the week and came together on Saturdays to do our “long runs,” which started out at 4 miles and grew to monstrous distances over time. If you told me a year ago that I’d be running mileage in the double digits, I probably would’ve cried a little bit at the thought of it. On my first 10 mile run at the end of October, I wanted to jump for joy. And when I crossed the finish line on Thanksgiving morning… oh, man. It was a lot more than a jolt of endorphins that was making my heart glow. My teacher told me last semester, “Write about running,” so I couldn’t resist letting this experience be a part of my final. Here’s a piece of what I wrote:

“As we neared the start, traffic slowed. Runners flung open passenger doors to find the corrals on foot and I joined them. What happened next took me by surprise. With the asphalt finally beneath my feet I couldn’t stop the thrill that spread over me from top to bottom. Ten thousand pairs of pounded, wounded soles were cold and anxious with me. I could look in any direction and see the same story, told ten thousand ways, that had been growing in me since August. And what felt like a dream to me could have been anyone else’s nightmare—a 13.1 trek through Atlanta on Thanksgiving morning with thousands of my closest friends.
Standing in the corrals, I watched the sun break over the Clairmont bridge, four runners silhouetted in the center of the glow. I can’t remember how it happened—if a gun went off or if someone just spoke the words—but there was music, and thousands of bodies picking up speed, and the feeling that I could move the earth with the force of my stride.”

And, what I didn’t write in my final, but what resonated deeply in me for a long time after the race ended, is the feeling of such deep camaraderie with so many thousands of people that I’ve never met. So many people look at you like you’ve lost your mind when you tell them that you’re training to run 13.1 miles–just for the fun of it. I knew on that morning that I was surrounded by a whole lot of the same kind of crazy, and that was a very unique feeling. I couldn’t help but think about the day when, with millions of believers on all sides, I’ll see the One I’ve been waiting for. And we’ll go home. It is a beauty drenched in hard work and anticipation, perhaps impossible to convey until you’ve seen it– so go run a race. That’s the moral of the story. Any distance will do. :)

3. Homework.

The ever present frenemy– even now as I type, my developmental psychology textbook is urging me either to sleep or to read, for goodness sake, but stop wasting time on this blogging business. Right now, I am resisting, but in general I spend a very good amount of time with my face buried in the pages of one thing or another, which I should really be okay with since I am, after all, an English Major. Sometimes, though, the things that are considered “great works of literature” are not what I would consider pleasurable food for thought. Slogging through a hundred pages of some brilliant writer’s creativity and contemplation sometimes leads to a moment of revelatory delight, and sometimes leads to falling asleep in my chair. It’s a toss up every time; you never know what you’ll get.
Recently, I got lucky in my English Heroines class with my very first Jane Austen book ever– Emma. The whole story captured me completely, reminding me of why I might actually want to spend a lot of time staring at words on pages, or even writing down some words of my own. Jane Austen, however, so masterfully crafted nearly every aspect of Emma that I’m not sure I could even harbor aspirations to ever try to follow in her footsteps. We shall see. Altogether, though, I certainly recommend the book (don’t watch the movie–read the book first), and I suggest that you read it with a pen in hand. There were plenty of moments when I found myself gasping, exclaiming, laughing, sighing, even almost to the point of weeping as I sat on my kitchen counter taking in the last 50 pages… you will want to write in the margins on this one. Definitely.

The darker side of my lighthearted Emma experience is that I’ll be writing a paper about it this weekend. College just seems so relentless sometimes. Scratch that. Life seems relentless, and I feel like I’m only just starting to put my feet in the water. How is it possible that I’m ready to crumble already? Maybe it’s a learning process. That seems likely to me. In fact, the more I talk out loud about the things that seem weighty in my mind, the more conquerable they become. I walked and talked with my roommate Clair for an hour today, and together I think we tossed back and forth a hundred ideas about people, hearts, and living. As I spoke, I listened to the knots of worry in my mind untangle and fall away. The space between two people who know and love each other, who listen and speak with honest words, is rare and beautiful. Talking with my good friends sometimes just feels like waking up early and remembering that it’s Saturday. Unexpected, and sweet.

So those are a few of the unchanging things. There is a lot that I could list that has been altered, but because my word count is approaching 1600, I feel that I should relieve you of your audiencial duties and be silent for the time being. The funny thing is that, after so many months of absence, I feel I have no imparted any sort of unusual wisdom or thrilling news. Maybe it is better that way. And it seems best, I think, to end in a list.

Things I’m a fan of right now:

1. Peanut butter toast. Whole grain bread, banana slices on top. Breakfast of champions.

2. Dance lessons. Or, I will be a fan of them if I can ever actually find time to go to the studio and take them. More on this in the near future, I hope.

3. Februarian Indecision. This month cannot make up her mind. It flurried on Sunday night, and today I could have worn a t-shirt. It was gorgeous outside. The good news is that I love cold rain, and I love cold sun. The alternating day-by-day changes are working for me for the time being, although I’d like to settle into a good 6 inches of snow sometime before spring comes. Can I get an amen?

4. “Restiveness.” Mickey pointed out this word to me as one that he was puzzled over from his Tocqueville reading tonight. When I looked it up, I found it to be exactly the opposite of what it’s pretending to mean:
restive |ˈrestiv|adjective(of a person) unable to keep still or silent and becoming increasingly difficult to control, esp. because of impatience, dissatisfaction, or boredom.

Tricksy, I thought. I like it.

5. Planet Earth. As in, the BBC series. Chelsea gave it to me as a Christmas gift and the semester has indubitably been one of our most educational thus far. It’s what we do on weeknights when we finish our homework in time. And, there really isn’t a way to say that without sounding lame. Oh well. I know more about freshwater seals than the average girl of 19, and that, my friends, it to be envied.

That’s all for tonight. The sleep gods assail me. Thank you for reading- I know you don’t trust me when I say this, but… more soon.

P.S. Mickey- I beat you. Too bad I LIVE HERE. Love always, Beth.

     There is a way the world opens up before me sometimes, flowering wildly like the fingers of spring in bare trees, that reminds me I am young, and the world is mine as much as I will take it into my hands. I see it in my bare feet beneath me, in photographs of fresh experiences, and in restaurant parking lots late at night. I feel it when the wind’s breath rushes through my open windows, weaving tangles into my hair, which is, by the way, shorter than it was last time I wrote here. Summer always serves to remind me of the freedoms that are here at my fingertips, especially when the season comes as a reprieve from the over-papering, over-studying, over-thinking, overwhelming rush of the school year. I have, in fact, been enjoying the break so immensely that I have let far too much time pass without really stopping to document the events of my life as they occur. As a result, I have a bazillion things to say and only a smidgen of energy left with which to tackle the horde of thoughts in my brain.

     I think it is more than safe to say that the length of my hair is one of the smaller changes that has taken place in the space between May’s beginning and June’s end. I have also become employed, which is in itself representative of a million little changes in my schedule, my network of friends, my perspective of humanity, and my assumptions regarding the nature of small children. If you guessed that perhaps I have been hired as a full-time mother of 3, you would be close but no cigar. Try “part-time mother of 21″ and you’ll be on the right track, as that is a loose translation of the phrase “Jefferson Parks & Recreation Summer Camp Counselor.” Try to withhold your envy, if you please. To be a day camp counselor is certainly a daunting task, but somebody must do it, and I have elected myself as a prime candidate. Whether or not this was a very bright decision is yet to be determined.
      So, yes, it is true that much has happened and much has changed. And somehow, despite my most honest intentions of “writing often” and “capturing everything in sentences,” I just haven’t managed to keep myself in line. In fact, I often feel that the only unchanging thing within my cabinet of character traits and personal habits is my astounding ability to be mercurial. I am consistently inconsistent; I make decisions and resolutions and abandon them immediately without a second thought. I wonder often what this reflects of my personality on a soul level, and what things I am actually uncompromisingly committed to in my heart of hearts. Perhaps this is something I should know of myself already, but hey. I’m in college. If I can just figure out what I want to study for 3 more years of my life then I’ll be in commendable shape, no?

Where do I begin? The thought of compiling all the word-worthy experiences that have taken place since the end of May into one readable manuscript is daunting, to say the least. I feel that no matter what I do, some important fragment will shiver through the cracks without my permission. Summer has filled up my life to maximum capacity, cramming all kinds of adventures and undertakings into my pockets and making my work-filled days overflow into fun-filled nights. Even now, I am existing in the intermission between an 8 hour work day and an evening in the park with friends. The empty hours between those two things give me just enough space to make good food, drink decent coffee, and give voice to some of the sentences that have been careening around my brain. Most days, my spare time leaves me dithering between the two therapies I crave most: running and writing. Throw in a million potential social interactions and the result is entirely overwhelming for an introverted extrovert such as myself. The balance between an over-socialized Annie who hasn’t slept well in a week and an isolated Annie who has had far too much time to contemplate the seriousness of life is surprisingly difficult to achieve. Because extroversion is my predominant trait, I find that the former condition is the more frequently occurring of the two. As a result, I am always, always filtering the requests that fill up my social inbox on a daily basis. Those who know me would recognize this process in my tendency toward noncommittal answers such as, “Sounds like fun! Can I think about it and call you later?” Sorry guys… such is the life of a writing, running, working, loving, dreaming, thriving college girl. 
      In spite of my vigilance, however, I have found myself participating in unsurpassed amounts of entertaining activities since summer began.  Here are some of the highlights so far:

The first running medal I've ever won! I ran a 5k with a friend and we both managed to dominate in our separate age groups. Although, when the race is called "Turbo Turtle Trot," the skill level required for such flawless victory is somewhat debatable. We felt victorious, just the same.

Another running-related victory. The view from the top of a mile-long hill, elegantly christened "Godzilla's Backbone."

Kevin and Jordan in the backseat of the Satisfaction on the way to the lake for July 4th. Hard not to wake them up with my giggling.

So, it's a little difficult to know what's going on here, but this is actually what has made up the majority of my summer funtivities. The five cars are accompanied by five friends all standing in a row outside of TGI Friday's very late one Wednesday evening. Much of my time and money is spent eating good food with good people, and that is okay with me.

So, there you have it. That’s the sparknote version of all the beautiful things I’ve experienced in this happy season. And really, those images can’t convey what has been most beneficial to my soul and body because the most wonderful parts of this summer have been intangible and unphotographable, which leaves me with one option only: to capture them in words. So, in addition to the many lovely happenings that have kept my life blissful and busy all at once, here are some of the things that have been like a deep inhalation for my soul:

1. Real food. Summer is one of the sweetest seasons here around the Morgan home due to the abundance of fresh produce harvested from the veggie garden in our side yard. Daddy works impressively hard every spring to break open the soil and fill it with good things all over again; the rest of us work impressively hard at consuming the benefits of his labor. The workday assaults me with pre-packaged preservatives and suspicious looking lunch meats, leaving my craving for actual nutrition completely unsatisfied. When I walk back through the doors of the Morgan abode, however, I am greeted by the possibility of fresh everything, and it is wonderful. The process of cooking is therapeutic for me in general, so I usually end up spending at least an hour in the kitchen every day, thanking God for space to feed my soul and body well. Needless to say, this is a welcome break from whatever we Oglethorpians are handed in the Emerson Cafe during the school year… avocado flavored pudding is nothing less than an abomination, I say.

2. Good coffee. This is simple, really. In spite of my inability to deal with caffeine, I find that finding a quiet place to be at rest is just that much easier with the warmth of a too-hot latte between my fingers. My new favorite spot is becoming somewhat of a Sunday afternoon addiction, for sure.

3. Quality time. In the spectrum of things that keep me emotionally buoyant, this is certainly in the top three. I have managed to find space for many sweet conversations with people whom I have missed dearly, or whom I simply love to be with, and I always walk away feeling as though the horizons in my heart have expanded slightly. I forget often, but am swiftly reminded, that developing relationships with people is both worthwhile and crucial, and that the busyness of life must be set aside in order to make space for some unadulterated talk-time with ones I love. If you are one such person, please feel free to remind me of this frequently.

And I’ll stop there, for all of our sakes. I could add many more soul-enriching things, such as going to Bible Study on Thursdays, or Small Group on Mondays, or such as eating well and running often, but I think I’ll spare you for now.

I will conclude this entry with something that will possibly make you laugh out loud, or at least grin. Jordan, my co-counselor and friend, and I have been compiling a list of the things we say at work that we would never imagine saying anywhere else. Needless to say, working with 20 seven year olds on a daily basis will certainly leave you laughing at the absurdity of your situation quite frequently. The following are some of our favorite “I can’t believe I just said that” moments; please keep in mind that all of these are bona-fide sentences that have actually left our mouths at some time or another during work hours.

“Sierra, don’t eat the dirt on the baseball field.”
“Boys, roll the pickle!”
“No more one-eyed horses.”
“Don’t chew your foot!”
“Stop eating your shoe!” 
“Why is your sock in your mouth?”
And of course,
“Do NOT give people purple nurples.”

And that’s all for now, folks. Hopefully you laughed a little, sighed a little, smiled knowingly at your computer screen, or something else of a happy nature. Leave your thoughts for me to read, if you please. :)

P.S. This link was passed along to me by a good friend who knows me well. It’s short, and a fun read if you’ve any love for finding new words. I think “frenemy” is my favorite.

First, I’d like to acknowledge that April has been skipped.

With birthday season and finals all clamoring for attention, I just didn’t manage to make space in the last month-and-a-half to blog-write. I have, however, written many other things and that is worth something, I think. But the truth is I’ve been craving this space for weeks, and I am so glad to finally be here. It is good for my soul.
Today I am curled up on my bed, crammed  long-ways between the wall and the open space of our small room. The roof-dwelling waterfall outside our window continues to berate the soggy earth long after the rain itself has subsided, making it difficult to ever really know what the weather is doing without just opening the door to see. Beth and I emerged feeling victorious from our 8AM Spanish final approximately an hour ago, and the after effects of exam-time sleep patterns are sinking down into my bones. It is a welcome heaviness because, for now, I can forfeit all pretense of alertness and just reacquaint myself with what it feels like to go slowly. The thought of one last final looms darkly at the edges of my brain, but I’m pretty sure that I can give myself an hour or two more of rainy reprieve. Inclement reverie assails me, and I welcome it.

Much has happened in the several weeks since I have been here last. Many escapades and adventures have taken their place among the ranks of memories that line the walls in my heart. As this first year of college comes to a close, I am nearly certain that I have had a more tremulous, beautiful, and extraordinary freshman year than anyone else I know. New people and new experiences have flanked me on all sides, accompanied sweetly by a fresh love for the old important things that have only gained significance over time. I expected to miss my family, but I don’t think I could have anticipated how deeply they would support me or in how many ways. I expected to find friends at school, but I never expected to love and be loved so thoroughly. I knew I’d struggle to find spiritual balance in a world completely new to me, but I find it hard to express how unique and difficult my conversations with God have been in these last 9 months. Where I am is good, but it is nothing I could have predicted.

(Time lapse.)

I am home now, finals are over, and the rain has ceased to pour. For the moment. I have heard that more is coming, and this is okay with me. What is not okay is that it has been nearly a week since I began writing this post, and I have yet to finish it. I know you have all been trembling on the edges of your seats, craving your monthly serving of perspicacious and wondering what on earth could be keeping me, but you shall wait no longer. Today’s the day, folks. Today’s the day.

(Side note: I just made a Kobe three-pointer with my gum into the trash can across the room. What a shot.)

I will begin with the conclusion to which I have come: the Catch 22 of blog-writing is that the longer I wait to write things down, the more there is to say, and the less I want to try and put everything all into words. Really, if I were to just do this once a week, we would all be faring very nicely. As it is, I am stuck with a pile of ponderings and a mountain of memories to untangle and somehow make presentable for reading purposes.

Now, then. Let us begin where we last ended: birthday season is officially over for the Morgan household. We have successfully traversed the immersion into and expulsion from the vacuum of celebration that extends from late March to the end of April. Presents have been given and parties have been had; all have felt loved and welcomed into their new year of living. It is my belief that I myself have experienced the overwhelming majority of all the aforementioned good things, a suspicion which I will now explain.

My birthday experience began the Wednesday before my big day with a pre-birthday fiesta involving all the Oglies, i.e., the friends at school whom I have grown to love most dearly. We went to a fabulous Mexican restaurant called Uncle Julio’s Casa Grande, with which even our very own ethnic Clair was quite impressed. After dinner, dessert was clearly in order, so, in what was possibly the most dynamic game of human Frogger ever seen, we scrambled across the street to Café Intermezzo, where we were greeted by a most impressive array of delectable dessert options. After cramming four or five tables together and perusing the incredibly copious menu options, I think we ended up with like two pieces of cheesecake and a hot chocolate. And while the minimalist nature of our consumption choices perhaps irritated our perpetually perturbed waitress, we had more than enough birthday sugar to go around. Overall, though, what really made the night so unprecedentedly wonderful for me were the unexpected happy things that happened around and during and inside of the main events. Here are some highlights:

The good, the bad, and the Oglies. Awesome surprise from Clever Clair.

1. Two months ago I told Clair and Beth that we should make shirts that say “The Good, the Bad, and the Oglies,” just for the simple fact that our school is really not on top of their game when it comes to clever apparel options. When I was lured by my conspiring roommate into accompanying her to the bathroom, I emerged to find a table full of friends suddenly wearing the best Ogle-shirt ever created, and one sitting on my chair. I couldn’t believe it. There are very few times in my life that I have been truly and completely surprised by anything; this was definitely one of those times. I think I screamed… I’m pretty sure I jumped.  It was a good moment, to say the least.

Ethan and Mickey. Knights in shining armor.

2. These boys, it should be said, have altogether helped to fill my Ogle-experience with laughter, silliness, and emotional support as needed. Their tendency to make my life just a little brighter and lighter only made my pre-birthday celebration just that much more wonderful. While Mickey kindly opened all my doors and stole away the check for my meal, Ethan surprised me with a most laughable and adorable gift: my very own knight in shining armor. To protect me from the swarm of creeps and weirdos who always seem to find me when I’m out at some coffee shop alone, Ethan went to the Build-A-Bear factory to procure a very lovable friend dressed in full knight ensemble. I also received an OU Baseball shirt that I had been wheedling away from Mickey’s grasp for days. All of this served only to remind me further that I have wonderful friends whom I love, and that I am happy to be alive.

Sporting the yellow cardigan during finals week, when I was kind of going insane.

3. Upon arrival back at 217, I was surprised by the presence of a very large box in the center of our room. Opening the box, I found a clue, following the clues, I found another box, opening the box, I found a present! My very considerate friend Erik had labored long hours to surprise me with something even I had forgotten that I wanted: a perfect lemon yellow cardigan in just my size. I had mentioned it only once, but that was enough. I couldn’t hardly believe my eyes… the culmination of blessings poured over my shoulders seemed just too lovely to understand. Also, the cardigan is really cute.

Birthday girl. Delighted.

So, in the interest of brevity, I’ll end my discussion of birthday festivities with this picture, and the statement that there was so much more goodness that it’s hard to even know where to stop. All of my loved ones made me feel loved, including the Fabulous Four back at home, who joined me for a birthday sleepover on the big day. That, too, was marvelous. I feel extraordinarily loved just remembering the events of that wonderful week- thank you to all of you who make that feeling a reality. You are too good to be true.

Now. What else needs to be said?

I have survived my freshman year with a most satisfactory GPA. Sophomore year comes bearing Statistics and Pre-calculus in hand, ready and waiting to destroy my dreams of a Summa Cum Laude graduation. Bring it on. I have sacrificed many hours of sleep and sanity to arrive at the place in which I now stand… what’s 3 more years of crazy gonna do?

Also, I went hiking and rock climbing yesterday with some friends of mine who are far more knowledgeable in such things than I am. My brother and I both managed to get up the first wall in good time- although I suspect that perhaps I had a little help from my belayer. Either way, the experience was both challenging and addicting. I want to do it again ASAP.

Photo by Matt Trivett. I think that's about the point that I wondered if I would make it to the top.

      All of this, and I still have not even touched on stories about going dancing, playing truth or dare, the Braves game… there are just so many things that have happened that are worthy of re-telling. Really, it is all too much to tell. I’ll have to be content with saying that although these past weeks have been a whirlwind, they have been extraordinary, and I am so looking forward to whatever summer chooses to bring with her. 

I will leave you for now with a quirky summary of my officially-ended freshman year at Oglethorpe University.

Three favorite memories:
1. All of the unprecedented good talks between my roommate and I inside the walls of 217. We’d stop in the middle of something else entirely and start to discuss some important issue at hand… we = peas, 217 = pod.
2. Pre-birthday celebrations.
 3. Tarp sliding. For the win.

Most difficult assignment: Medieval and Renaissance, first 2 papers. It was mental acrobatics for me to even know where to begin with tackling those prompts. Third time was the charm, I guess.

A lesson learned in the classroom: From Dr. Brightman: skepticism can make you a better writer. Question the necessity and clarity of your words… always.

A lesson learned outside of class: If you don’t do your work, it will not get done. On the other hand, if you don’t do your work, the world will not explode. My social life exists in the tension between those two truths.

Number of all-night study sessions: One all-the-way, but several that ended between the hours of 3 and 6AM.

Worst food eaten: Turkey “meatloaf” in Emerson. Or possibly the mysterious avocado colored pudding they had during the last week. It’s a toss-up.

Best food eaten: Either the plunder of our free cake-tasting excursion, or the tamales at Uncle Julio’s. Both were excellent, and both were free. :)

Most surprising discovery: The depth of love and friendship that can be developed in what seemed to be so short a time.

Nicknames earned: Cap’n Morgan, The Steamroller, Baby Momma

Something completely new that I tried: Watching “Dirty Dancing,” and actually going dancing. I loved both experiences.

Something I’m proud of: Joining the XC team and actually running races. I would have never imagined myself doing that like, 3 years ago. Things change, I suppose.

A mistake I made: Not keeping in touch with friends from home consistently enough. I still have them, though, and for that I am grateful.

Three words to describe the overall freshman experience: Tumultuous, surprising, delightful.
Thank you, all. Goodnight. <3 

P.S. Follow perspicacious? with BLOGLOVIN’.

Today I have cold feet, and a heart that wanders.
Funny how those can be called the same thing and feel completely different.

For one, I need socks. For the other, I wish I knew.

I have been thinking about happiness- actually, for quite some time now. I have been wondering what it means to be happy, and if its something we get to choose. I’ve discovered that answers to questions such as these are not something that the common culture of our world carries in its back pocket. Not good answers, anyway. This leaves me with a quandary in my heart and qualms in my clenched fists; why does the world pretend to be happy when it knows that it is sad inside? Why do any of us pretend to be things that we are not?

And why aren’t we as happy as we want to be?

I do not know the answers to these questions, but I have been thinking. If I had to make a list, I’d say that the following things have something to do with cultivating happiness:

- Having a sense of purpose.
- Deciding that people are more important than things.
- Believing in something. 
- Balancing life: rest, work, play.
- Loving something other than yourself- especially people.
- Knowing what matters to you and making space for it in your life.

That’s all I got so far. Certainly, it is not  comprehensive list. And although its contents might seem kind of repetitive, and a little like old news, perhaps they are not so well-worn as we might think. It is sometimes the simple things that are most difficult to learn. (She said, feigning great experience.) What do I know, really?

Anyway. This week I have been experiencing the beautiful release from the clutch of busy college existence that is known as Spring Break. Although, I will be honest and say that it has not been the glorious kind of respite that I might have planned. As my friend Erik termed it, I have had quite the “mature” spring break experience, something quite different from my first hope for this week, which was to be in West Palm Florida with my wonderful roommate. Instead of soaking up sunshine on perfect warm sand, I’ve been saturated with reminders of what it means to be human, to grow up, and to value the ones I love. I can’t say that I would have welcomed such an experience if I had been given the choice, but I will say that this week has been deeply meaningful, to say the least.

This week, I have watched as tragedy has unexpectedly placed a family very close to us on a path of great difficulty and sadness. I have seen my parents, and hundreds of others, draw near to these precious people in their time of sorrow, encircling them with open hearts and careful, steady love. I have wondered what to say when the loss just seems too deep and too real to even speak at all, and I have been amazed by the clear, extraordinary way that this family is treasured by the multitudes who know them. And while all of this has been difficult, it has been beautiful in the strangest of ways. When tragedy fell, love came quickly to bear up the brokenhearted, carefully enfolding them in the midst of their pain. 

And watching that was more valuable than any memories I could’ve made elsewhere, I’d say, despite the sad weight it brings to my heart.

Also this week, I get to do my taxes and think about how much money I don’t have.

There are, however good things to be said. For instance, it’s Birthday Season!

Last night was the kick-off event to weeks of presents, cakes, and general all-round celebration. Johnny, although technically born last in the Morgan clan, somehow managed to wrangle the soonest birthday on the 12 month calendar, and so we began the festivities yesterday with the beastliest all-out game of Capture the Flag ever to occur on farm soil. Or at least, that was the intent. What actually happened was more like twenty-something teenagers scrambling through thickets of three-inch thorns and treacherous puddle marshes in solid darkness for two and a half hours until most of us ended up either captured or injured or too cold to run. At that point, parents started showing up and we mutually surrendered. I stand by the belief that my team would have won… eventually.

Anyway. Birthday Season has officially begun. We’ll give J-mo one last hurrah on his big day, Katie goes next and then I bring up the rear four days after that. What this means is that present-planning and party-ideation have begun as well, which leads me to tell you a story.

Coldplay, my favorite band as of several months ago and currently the soundtrack to which I write, is coming in May. May 17th, 2009, at 7:30 PM in the Lakewood Amphitheater to be exact. Somehow, by a cruel turn of fate, I did not know of this until Wednesday afternoon, when I was driving down 85-South and listening to the radio suddenly tell me that they are about to GIVE AWAY two ticket to see COLDPLAY in MAY! All you have to do is be caller 25 when they give the word. My delighted yelping quickly turned into stifled groans of frustration when I realized that my phone was jammed between the passenger seat and side door, thus rendering me helpless to make the call should the time come before I were to reach a stop of some kind. Of course, the time did come, and the phone did not miraculously materialize into my hands, and I whimpered sad-angry sounds alone in my car. It seemed just so cruel. However.

At breakfast yesterday morning, on a whim, I casually mentioned to my father that Coldplay was coming back to town. Strangely, he asked me for details. I told him everything I knew, and threw in “You should take me!” and a daughterly smile. Just like that, I saw him drawing out the idea on the chalkboard in his brain, and watched as the words, “Yeah, I could do that. Buy two tickets and I’ll pay for them,” emerged from his mouth. Gun-shy, I made sure he knew what kind of cash he was gonna be throwing down for this kind of a venture. He paused, reconsidered, and then said it was fine, I should buy the tickets and it would be my birthday present.

And so, now, only four hours after ticket sales opened, we have two seats with our names written all over ‘em, and the high hopes that section 201, row HH will have as great of a view as the website claims it does.

This is all quite a surprising turn of events, to say the least. After seeing Coldplay in November, I sort of resigned myself to probably not getting to go to another real concert for at least a year, if not several. And honestly, that was okay with me; I still believe nothing will compare to that first beautiful experience. I am, however, quite okay with developing new memories to accompany the familiar ones.

So, there you have it. Birthday season is well underway, beginning with quite a bang if you asked me. The other things on my list currently are a decent hair straightener, a pair of Chacos, and a mint chocolate chip ice cream cake. But who doesn’t want those things, really?

What else shall I say?

I’ve been writing poetry lately, for the first time in a long time. It brings a different sense of accomplishment to write a poem rather than a blog, and I feel better as a person when I am doing both, I think, but I find poetry to be an elusive friend at times. Just when I think I can call her on demand, she disappears into the recesses of artistic frustration, and I am left empty-handed. Sometimes, with a little bit of willingness and some persistence, I can convince her to come back around, but there are no guarantees. So, I am grateful for the poems I have been writing, even if they aren’t always things I’d want to release to the general population. I’ll let you know if anything publishable finds its way to the surface.

Hmm. Oh! I found a book hiding in the shelf in my room this week entitled Bloom’s Bouquet of Imaginary Words, which I had intended to be a Christmas present for a good friend several years ago. My friend ended up receiving something else in its stead, and the book has lived a lonely life in the “books I haven’t read yet” section of my shelf. Upon reviewing its contents, however, I remembered that I don’t have such bad taste in gifts after all, and have decided to share some excerpts with you.

So, rather than doing my usual sweep of the dictionary to search out impressive words for you to use in your everyday conversations, here is your unexpected dose of Imaginary Words instead:

Muscellany, n.- a variety of strong stuff

Pillgrimage, n.- a long drive to the pharmacy

Nanagram, n.- one billionth of a grandmother

Nanachronism, n.- granny attends a rave

Shamster, n.- a fake gerbil

and one especially for the Lenten among us,

Snacreligious, adj.- stealing wafers to eat after mass

 I hope you all chuckled at least once. And I hope you will be brave enough to use them in your casual conversations, should the opportunity arise. You know you want to.

And that’s all for me for now. I’m sure I’ll remember something I’ve forgotten as soon as I walk away from the computer screen. It’s okay. There will be other blogs.

As always, thanks for reading. :) Leave me your thoughts; let me know you’re here.

Here is a phrase I say to myself at least once a month: 
“It is not okay to go a whole month without writing a blog.”

Here is a phrase I have said to myself lately: ”CRAP! February’s too short!”

And so, here I am. Trying to be committed to the craft of keeping the things that matter together in paragraph form, and trying to not imagine the upcoming midterms that are straddling the path between myself and my scribe-like duties. I have paid them what I owe for today. Now, on the brink of sleep, I push the grimy hands of every task I could be completing away from my mind; there can sometimes be more important things to write than papers.

At this moment, I am listening to “Latika’s Theme” from the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack. For those that, like me, were unable to catch the Oscars on Sunday night, I would just like to make it known that Slumdog apparently took away a handful of awards, including the category of Best Picture. I would also like to make it known that the title, in my opinion, is absolutely well deserved. I saw this film twice in less than two days, and loved it with my whole heart both times. Although I will confess that it is long, and that somewhere at about an hour and 36 minutes in you start to wonder when the happy ending is going to land in your lap, by the final scenes (both times) I was completely convinced that every second of the last two hours of my life was perfectly well-spent. Please believe me when I say that you definitely, positively, unquestionably must see this film.

I don’t want to give a plot summary or a formal review, but I will say that there is something precious in the story of the film that left me, in the end, wordless. Some things are just that way, I guess. It met my heart perfectly in the middle of everything  that makes up my days and startled me with the freshness of redemption and love. And while the beauty somehow made me ache, it was still exactly what I needed to remind me of things bigger and more wonderful than myself.

Like rescues. And dancing. And love.

Anyway, all of this to say that I sort of involuntarily threw my arms up touchdown-style when my teacher mentioned this movie in class on Monday. It’s just that good.

The world is covered in clouds and puddles today. Here at Oglethorpe, this makes for most interesting class-to-class walking experiences. When it rains, our sidewalks bury themselves under sometimes ankle- and knee-deep bodies of water that extend far above and beyond what is called for in the traditional “puddle.” These fall more into the category of “lagoon,” and they result in an experience familiar only to OU students that could be called “extemporaneous full-body immersion,” or “I should have worn my bathing-suit today.” These impromptu swimming lessons are just another element of Ogle life that we freshmen were not warned of in all of our pre-college training, but that we are quickly learning how to survive. The rain, I would venture to say, we have even learned to love.

Exhibit A: Tarp sliding.

I wish there were pictures to explain this, but I will have to try my hardest with only my memory and my words.

Last Wednesday night, upon returning to school from various activities abroad, I sauntered three doors down the hall to room 220 to check on the events for the evening. The plan was that we would all pile into vehicles and carpool to Steak n’ Shake for 75 cent steakburgers, because our goal most of the time is to obtain as much free/cheap food as possible. So. Those of you readers who are located in the north Georgia area like myself may recall the uncharacteristic 14 hour tornado-inducing storm we all experienced on that particular day. What you probably do not know is that, for some reason yet unexplained, nearly all of our male friends here at OU are baseball players. Thus, we sometimes have access as a group to secret, covert baseball operations that other students may or may not ever even be aware of at all; one such item is the covering and uncovering of the entire infield with an enormous silver tarp on rainy days. When I arrived in room 220 to discuss food-related goals, I was met instead with a conversation that went something like this,

“Okay, we can go get food now, but we have to be back by 9 so we can take the tarp off of the field.”
“Alright well, let’s-”
“HEY, we could go tarp sliding.”

And after they had clarified to me exactly what this activity entails (it is exactly what it sounds like: running and intentionally diving into puddles on this gigantic slippery surface), the plan was set in motion. We rallied the troops and armored ourselves in throwaway t-shirts and set off to conquer our most daringly outlandish exploit to date.

It went swimmingly well, pun quite intended. We found an enormous lake of a puddle somewhere between second and third base and slid until we were all soaked, tired, and injured in some way or another. In additions to obtaining mild concussions resulting from too-ambitious headfirst dives, I’m pretty sure we may have experienced varying levels frostbite and/or hypothermia due to the vicious cold that clung to our muddy toes and shivering shoulders. There isn’t a worse feeling than being chilled to the bone, completely drenched, and inadequately clothed in the middle of a February night. But perhaps there isn’t a better one than doing all of these things on purpose with the people who make your life better on a regular basis.

Which brings me to my next thought. I’d like to introduce The Crew. I will preface the introduction, however by saying this:

With the arrival of college came many new things, but a basketful of friends on my doorstep was perhaps not one of them. School basically began with just me, Beth, Bianca, and the early morning cross country practices that ruled our sleeping schedules with a tight reign. In talking to my roommate about these things, I said, “First semester was you and me against the world.” This statement was then quickly followed by, “It is so different now.”

Since the return from Christmas Break, a new dynamic has been at play among us. Suddenly the friends we had been fond of before we went home for the holidays became less transient fixtures in our affections, as if the long time spent away made us all realize what was so good about being back at the Fort. The daily routines of 2009 began to develop and we found that these beautiful people were consistently present in every plan we made and every  scheme we hatched. As of today, scarcely a meal has passed that I haven’t been in the good company of 220 boys and/or Dempsey girls, along with the ever present roommate  and the wonderful Bianca. Thus, because I love them and because I love to write, let me break this down for you.

Clair the Clever.

I met Clair at an Oglethorpe scholarship weekend in January 2008, and we were perfect for each other. This was made clear by our unintentionally matching outfits, like a secret handshake we didn’t know we had. I then proceeded to decide that she probably wouldn’t want to be friends with the likes of me, and have since been proven wrong in a million ways. Clair’s skin is always tan, due to the various ethnicities coursing through her veins, and always dehydrated, due to her inability to cope with any climate that isn’t Louisiana. She is a skilled letter-writer, story-teller, and salsa dancer. I aspire to be as clever as Clair someday.

Bianca the Babe.

 Bianca came into my life as the “cute Jamaican girl who doesn’t seem very happy to be here” during the very beginning of cross country season last semester. Somehow and for some reason Bianca quickly became a part of our daily routine: wake up too early, Bianca comes over, go running. Those were our days from August to November, and by the third week in she had already won our hearts. B’s most defining characteristic is probably either her inherent Jamaican laidback demeanor, or the incredible hotness that she possesses. She talks quietly but laughs loudly, and says “watuh” instead of “water.” She, too, does not know the meaning of “pale.”

Ethan and Mickey. Two of The Boys.

One fateful night in October, by means of a stolen pumpkin and a game of Apples to Apples, Ethan and Mickey showed up on our radar for the first time. Since then, many board games and unplanned adventures later, so much has changed. Nearly every time we walk out of the room with some project in mind, we are heading down the hall to room 220 to “get the boys.” This, of course, includes the honorary member of Club 220, Jake Spear, affectionately dubbed “Stringbean.” Many cold and windy hours have been spent cheering these boys on from the stands of Hermance Stadium since baseball season began. Imagine: a vast horde of attractive college girls yelling your name at all your sporting events. You don’t get much luckier than they are, I’d have to say. 

The Fearsome Foursome.

And of course, The Fearsome Foursome. Hilary, Eli, Hannah, and Pudge are only available in numbers greater than one; it is rare so see one of them flying solo. I’d have to say they are one of the most well-matched friend groups that has formed since we all arrived onto the OU campus. I always love sharing blankets with them at baseball games because Hannah has more player/game knowledge than the rest of us combined, Hilary sits in my lap when she gets cold, and Eli yells intermittently throughout the game. Pudge sometimes tries to yell, but none of us really have the volume capacity of Eli Newland. That’s just the way it is.

Beth and Me.

And of course, my ravishing roommate, Beth. It almost goes without saying that we are nearly as perfect for each other as roommates can be, but I say it often just in case either of us forgets. We have more adventures, silly moments, and deep conversations in one night of studying than most drunk frat boys have in a weekend. I am sitting on her bed as I type, watching her go about her nightly tasks and thinking that I have it pretty good here in room 217. Click here to experience our most recent video production. A work of pure art, I assure you.

And, well, what can I really say? There are so many more people who make my Ogle life a beautiful life. I think it would be a lofty task to introduce them all… sweet Sarah, philosophical Erik, bearded Balbir, the immutable Katherine, and Liz who is always going to concerts. There are many whom I love. I’m sure you will know their names in the near future. Assuming that I write again in the near future. Which I hope to do.

I will end by saying that I gave blood today, despite the deep unsettledness I feel regarding needles. Of course, it would be me that has to get poked twice in the finger before they can ever jab me in the arm. But it’s gonna be okay- I saved lives.

That is all for tonight, though there is much more to be said. Thank you for reading. February = blog’d!

I think this is the first year in several that I have not written an official, welcome to the New Year, ending and beginning, goodbye and hello blog entry. It is usually my custom to capture in writing, as best I can, everything that feels most significant about the 365 days that precede January 1st of each new year. The lack of said writing is certainly not because I wouldn’t know what to say; 2008 was literally overflowing with firsts, lasts, and important in-betweens. Just in thinking about the past 13 months, I am astounded at how many milestones I flew by, and how much I could say with regards to just any one of the seasons in 08. Yet, such things remain unsaid. This tends to make me feel like a computer trying to save all the old files while also making space for the new ones: a brain-frying sort of task that leaves me feeling anxious, as if being perched on the perilous precipice of forgetfulness could lead to the loss of my life’s landmarks altogether. Writing them down seems imperative, and yet obviously not urgent enough to outweigh, say, the million other things congregating on my to-do list. Those other million things undoubtedly seem more immediate and foreboding than the simple task of just “writing something down.”  I think, though, that they are not the only thing standing in my way.

January just doesn’t seem like itself this time around. It seems like most of them come with their own recommended dose of a slower, less rushed pace. The years generally race downward from October into a tumbling finish, and then begin their upward climb again in the infancy of the new year. However. Although I can say that I am feeling far less academically overextended now than I was three months ago, the month of January has harbored more newness and change than I could have expected, beyond the fresh christening of 2009 itself.

Thus, I have found it difficult to write any sort of publishable words as of late. Sometimes it just seems like there is so much to say that it’s hard to say anything at all. My journal is crammed with all the sentences that wouldn’t stand a chance in the outside world, with their fragile phrases and open-faced vulnerability. But I think it’s time to try and turn loose some of what’s tumbling around inside me; I can only go for so long with only pen and paper to know what’s on my mind.

     There is something I have encountered often in life that always seems remarkable and distinct to me, and that is the way that everything continues to pulse forward even in the face of great grief or enormous change. One of the most vivid depictions of this phenomenon that I have found is from Betsy Cañas Garmon, teacher friend and homeschooler extraordinaire. I think it was on one of our “school day” excursions that she was telling us about the curious nature of juxtapositions in literature. She described how the sun shone too brightly on the day that she left the funeral of someone whom she loved deeply, and how it just seemed impossible for the world to be anything other than bleak. The weather didn’t seem at all to understand the pain of such great loss, and the world still spun busily on as though nothing at all had changed.

 
    This feeling, the startling motion of life in the aftermath of heartache, seems so essential to the experience of just being human, and yet it always takes me by surprise. I sigh deeply, remembering that sorrow is not as simple as just being sad, and I am astounded again at the complexity of my own heart. And in spite of the ache, I am grateful for the feelings that arrest my attention, because they remind me that there are still deep and unexplored places in the human experience that I have not yet known. The sadness that quietly covers my heart turns my perspective so I can see more than what I ever could otherwise; other people’s griefs and the sorrow in their eyes look different to me because I know what it is like to ache. And, when I slow down my crazy spinning world and try to let my heart unfold, there are soft new shoots of green growing from the dark and empty spaces in me. I value them more because they are not going to look like anything else that has grown in me before; they are sewn by the uncommon hands of change.

So, January hasn’t quite been herself this time around. And what’s happening instead are new and startlingly difficult things that have been changing my world. Hello, 2009.

What else is there to say?

I’m home for the weekend performing astounding acts of laundry transubstantiation. The washer and dryer on campus require us students to dish out exorbitant amounts of money in order to have clothes that don’t smell like what we ate for dinner 2 weeks ago. What furthers my exasperation on the subject is the fact that these terrible machines only allow for one currency: quarters. I have actually bartered for exact change in a desperate clothesless moment, and have been solicited by acquaintances for the same reason. People tend to be under the impression that Ogle is a “nice school,” with respectable students who strive toward impressively high ambitions. We are actually more like a colony of homeless people, hunting each other’s furniture for spare change.
      So, in order to avoid this cultural travesty, I can often be found weekending in my first home, washing and drying endless piles of several-times-worn clothing for free. Sounds like a good deal to me.

Also, the food is better here.
And I love my family inordinately much. If you know me, you know this is true. My parents don’t seem to understand that other kids with perfectly wonderful families who live close by still don’t go home for several weekends at a time. When I have informed my mother of this in the past, her response has usually been something to the tune of,
“Who are these people? Are you friends with them?”

And really, I’m grateful for the verve with which my family demands my presence in their lives. And I’m even more grateful for the joy with which they receive me, even if it’s only been two weeks, and even if I saw them at church two days before. There is always this unusually happy smile on all of their faces when I step back through the kitchen door to meet their open arms. I am seeing more and more that happiness might be more like an art to be perfected than it is something that just lands in your lap every morning. I know that there is happiness for me in my family’s world, and I treasure it greatly. 

Even if I don’t come home every weekend.

Hmmm. I could write a whole blog more about the happinesses I have found in the Ogle people I’ve grown to adore. It is possible that I have felt more “okay” there in these last three weeks than I did at all last semester. Something settled down a little bit inside of me, I think, and it got easier to see how good the good things about college really are. Again, it is an art to enjoy the people who live three doors down, or the ones in the dorm across campus. It is important to go on adventures into the city, and also to spend nights just sitting around in our rooms. 

I could say much more about these things. That’s enough for now. But here is proof that school can be a beautiful thing:

Beth, Sarah, Catherine, Clair, Annie. And the aftermath of a cake-tasting party.

Beth, Annie, Clair. On our way to the High Museum for college night. It was SO cold, and there was a creeper to our left.

My roommate Beth and I, with our terra cotta friend.

And the beautiful Bianca is behind the camera for most of these. We try to keep her incredible attractiveness under wraps as much as possible- definitely for her own sake.

And before I go, one last thing. I got to meet my beautiful friend Grace for coffee yesterday, and we talked about a little bit of everything for almost two hours solid. It was wonderful. She always encourages me about being a writer somehow, and I don’t even know if she means to. Anyway. When I complimented her on her use of “exorbitant” in our conversation, we talked briefly about words that we wish we could remember to say all the time. So, here are a few to brighten up your coffee-talk conversations (taken from the New Oxford American Dictionary/Thesaurus):

ebullient |iˈboŏlyənt; iˈbəlyənt|
adjective
 cheerful and full of energy : she sounded ebullient and happy.

parochial |pəˈrōkēəl|
adjective
of or relating to a church parish : the parochial church council.
 having a limited or narrow outlook or scope : this worldview seems incredibly naive and parochial. 

deluge |ˈdel(y)oōj|
noun
a severe flood.

ineluctable |ˌiniˈləktəbəl|
adjective
unable to be resisted or avoided; inescapable : the ineluctable facts of history.

I dare you to use at least one of them today. :)

The weather outside is not frightful, as of today. I think Georgia annually forgets to fill her normality prescription when it comes to the weather, among other things. We also have people who hang rebel flags from their truck beds and say things like, “The South will rise again.” In response, one has to wonder, if the South rises, will it not then be technically the North?

These are the things that the residents of our grand state have obviously not considered.

Also, I have a confession to make.

Sometimes, at public establishments with single-unit restrooms, when the women’s is occupied, I am terribly tempted to use the men’s instead. I mean, honestly. How picky can a person be about gender-assigned locations when it comes to these kinds of things? If I am on the brink of a mid-restaurant pants-wetting, exactly how concerned do you think I am with that little man-shaped stick figure on the door? I hope you see the logic in my words. The only potential downside is the faces you may encounter on the way out. That could be awkward. 

Furthermore, I swallow my gum. Often. Usually this is for one of the following reasons:

A. I am riding in an enclosed vehicle with other people, I have no scrap paper on hand, and I am too sheepish to crack the window and toss the offending wad out onto the wayside. This sheepishness is heightened if I am sitting in the backseat, where any change in cabin pressure causes a thundering wind tunnel effect on the whole car. No good.

B. I am pre-occupied with what I am doing (as I am currently) and I have no convenient, on-hand way of trashing the gum. So I swallow it. (Like I just did.)

And lastly, Coldplay is my first official favorite band. All other preemptive musical affections have been the prologue to this moment. Although I am sure that more favorites will come and go, this is the first time I can recall wanting to own every single song that any one band has written, and also the first time I have come close to accomplishing that goal. I felt this was an important shift in my development as a human being.

It helps that when I listen to them, I think of how my awesome boyfriend surprised me with tickets to see them in November, and how the whole experience blew me away. The tickets should have come with a lifetime guarantee of heart happiness. I smile inside every time I think of it.

Anyway. That’s enough confessions for one day.

In other news, I am currently cooking and writing alternately, a pastime I used to employ often. It tends to make for frequent subject changes, between stirs and taste tests, or at least somewhat disjointed trains of thought. In addition to this, I just caught a towel on fire. I should probably try and stick to one task at a time.

What else is to be said?

It is so nice to  write meanderingly again. I have not created space for this kind of directionless musing in what feels like a very long time. My to-do list over this Christmas break has been what my boyfriend calls a “fun list,” because it doesn’t quite qualify as a collection of assignments or things that need to be done. Currently, it consists of “paint, crochet, knit, write a letter, write a story, ride a bike.” And maybe “clean the house a little bit.” However, I find that with this kind of space comes a greater depth of thought that fills my world quite sufficiently. Instead of cruising through days spent sleeping too late and thinking too little, I find myself wanting to wake up earlier and spending my time delving into the quandaries and conundrums of the human condition. Is this normal? What kind of college student spends her winter break re-examining her life? I guess this kind does. I wonder if I am alone.
 I have just been curious about something. Truly, I have been curious about many things. But one thing in particular is this: are you happy? Is anyone? Does anyone wake up with anticipation for the day ahead of them? Does anyone delight in their existence? Are we satisfied? Are we content?

I ask because I think that this matters. I think we are meant to have fullness in our souls. Augustine, who wrote deeply of his God and of his own soul, wrote “…for you have made us for yourself, and our heart is restless until it rests in you.” 

That is certainly something to think about.

I think I am done for now. Except for one beautiful thing.

Listen to this. It is a French children’s song entitled, “A la Claire Fontaine,” the version is by Laure Shang, and it is wonderful. Beth showed it to me months ago, but I just now got around to figuring out what it is called and the artist’s name. I don’t speak French at all, but I did look up the lyrics, here is a little taste,

Sing, nightingale, sing,
Your heart is so happy.
Your heart feels like laughing,
Mine feels like weeping.

and the refrain to the poet’s beloved,

So long I’ve been loving you,
I will never forget you.

Listen to it, and love it.

Goodnight. Thank you for reading my words. :)

I think it is astounding how the human body remembers. We move through our days, soaking up fragments of life that are meaningful to us, and we don’t even know that they’re still with us until we feel them rising up again, years later. From no where, a song reminds us of how it smelled in that coffee shop, or how it felt to be hugging that person, or what it was like when they stopped coming around. An image can feel like a conversation, a piece of furniture can voice an argument, the sound of latches locking, the bathroom door slamming, feet on hardwood floors, it can all sound like the summation of something that couldn’t otherwise be described.
     Smells are the ones that really get me. You can’t keep them or cling to them, nor can you intentionally re-create them. But whenever I encounter one that is memory-laden, it hits me like a wall, and then floats away, unconcerned. I am left with this poignant, uncontrollable nostalgia sweeping over my face as I remember all the time I once spent with Grandma’s carpet, or the pile of leaves we used to tumble together in the backyard. When would I ever think of these things, if not for the smell of them that has taken up residence somewhere inside of me? I love how my body absorbs more than I could ever hope to consciously remember. And I love the moments when something moves things around in the corners of my mind, and I am forced to see it, smell it, hear it, feel it all again.

Right now, Jack Johnson crooning to me through the speakers on my MacBook is making me remember some things I hadn’t thought of in months. It is only the melancholy in me that wants to hear all the words in the song, just to remember what they meant to me at some other time in my life. It is such a sadhappy feeling that creeps up in us when we remember times that were good, people that were precious, and moments that were indescribable. I am so young, only eighteen and a half years worth of remembering is stored up in my soul, but I feel it all so powerfully just the same. It makes me wonder what it will be like when my eighty, ninety, or a hundred years are all spun out behind me… what will I remember then? What will matter most and how vividly will it survive in my mind’s eye? I wonder if the things that grab me now will still be compelling, or if they will just become like bokeh in the images that my memory holds. I wonder what those images will be.

I wonder a lot of things.

Officially, it is Christmas Eve. I can hardly believe it. Do I sound as old as I feel when I say that time is moving faster every year? That’s something your grandparents say when they see how many inches you’ve grown, and yet it is how I feel tonight. To me, it seems like Christmas is a little kid running around putting magnets on the holidays to make them closer together. From Halloween to Thanksgiving feels like an ever-shortening ramp that launches us speedily through Hanukkah and straight into Christmas, where we land in disorientation and tumble into the New Year. That’s how it seems to me.

     Nevertheless, I am overjoyed to be where and what and who I am right now in the middle of this whirlwind of a season. Because, in spite of the rush, this time of year has brought a welcome dose of much-needed spaciousness into my life. For the first time in months, there are no deadlines or professors or wake-up times. Over the last week and a half, I have lazily indulged in a few pages of pleasure reading, several mornings of late-sleeping, food that isn’t cafeterial scum, time spent watching two movies with my family, and a sleepover with ladies that I love. Never has winter break meant so much to my physical and emotional well-being. In the last days of finals, I spent three consecutive days getting hit on by men of all calibers in the Starbucks down the street from the OgleFort, trying to paper my way into decent grades. I ended up on Thursday night with one research paper due and 24 hours to make it happen- the equation for so many kinds of breakdown. And although I did manage to make it through, turn the paper in on time, and live to tell the tale, I think that if I had had one more assignment flung onto my shoulders then I would have actually crumbled into a thousand screaming pieces and fled the scene. 

So, the break was much needed.
I am trying to spend it wisely.

It seems that the more I encounter the pressures of the outside world, the more pressure I feel to spend my unbusy time in the most beneficial way possible. Somehow, this feels like a defeat of the purpose in taking breaks at all. So, I just try to be everything that I always want to be during the semester: well-slept, well-read, well-fed, well-prayed, creative, and happy. These are the adjectives to which I devote my time and all the space I have found in my life as of late. 

[time lapse: Christmas Day]

The truth is, things are just different this year. The traditions that have always been like four solid walls around us, keeping all the streaming parts of our lives tucked safely inside, seemed less necessary this year, with other importances rising up in their places. I thought the foundations were trembling when the garlands and ribbons were still in storage on the 23rd, and my suspicions were confirmed when the front porch lights never surfaced at all. We failed to make the customary almost-Christmas-dinner drive to NC due to sickness on my mother’s part, and the purchasing of the Christmas tree was done during the daylight hours as opposed to the usual 32 degree rainy night. However, in spite of all these disturbances in the general order of things, here is a little taste of what kind of Christmas joy I have found instead:

Uncle Dan singin' the classics.

Jess and Aaron on the sleeping couch.

Daddy, experiencing the after effects of pumpkin pie.

And this.

The trade is more than fair. I have enjoyed, appreciated, and adored my family in this season of my life more than ever before. When Colorado finally sent my cousin scurrying back to us for the holidays, I realized again how treasurous is this thing called family. I am so delighted to have him, along with all the others whom I love, present in my life, even if only for a short space in December. 

That’s all I have to say for now. Truly, I have more thoughts and more time to share before this break is over, so I am hoping to be here again, sooner than usual.

Merry Christmas, all. :)