The Short Sleeved Rule

When I was young, one of the rules I had to adhere to involved my clothing choices, specifically during the spring. I was not allowed to wear shorts and short sleeves outside until the snow had all melted away.

Being the patient child that I was, I'd often spend some of my warmest spring days with a snow shovel, digging into the larger snow hills, and either sprinkling the shovel-fulls of snow around the yard, or dumping it into the puddles that had formed on either side of our driveway. It was always a race to have short sleeve privileges again.

I'm 22 now, and have been picking out my own outfits for at least four years now, but I notice that this practice isn't completely dead in me quite yet. As I walked from my car to class this morning, I found myself kicking at larger snow banks, as if I was still 16 years old (give or take 10 years), waiting to put on short sleeves for another spring.

And although this really has nothing to do with the story, I also still can't resist trying to slide on ice patches, or stepping on what looks like thin ice, in what in reality is nothing but a stupid attempt to soak my foot with ice-cold puddle water. I guess old habits really do die hard.

*First baseball game of the season tonight, at the dome... Go Auggies!*

My Christmas(break) Story

The funny thing about home is, whenever I return to it in Foley, MN, it's like I'm entering a different life. Things suddenly slow down, walking everywhere isn't an option so the car becomes a necessity, and something as simple as watching a movie turns into a big event.

As I drove home for Christmas this year, I looked forward to these things, but tried as hard as I could to pack my schedule to avoid lulls in the long days.

The Couch Potato

I've been sleeping on the futon each night for about a week now, and today I really never got off of it. Why didn’t I leave the couch today? Well, first of all, I've been physically active all week and I'm tired. Secondly, for the first time since early December, I finally have cable again, not to mention a TV larger than 13 inches.

That’s right, this weekend, we finally re-acquired my roommate’s TV from the girl who had been using it, and the best news: it fits perfectly within the hole in my entertainment center.

But this came at a cost.

The First, Ever, Mark My Words

Let's be honest: I have a lot of free time on my hands. AND I'm bored a lot, which leads to this.

I'd like to preface this by saying I know a lot of you have better things to do than read this and/or don't really care about my daily anecdotes or proceedings. That's ok, that's why I'm not tagging anyone. I also know a lot of you don't have anything better to do, but don't really care. that's ok too. And I'm sure, by the number of people I've suddenly started talking to over facebook, that there are a few that both have nothing better to do, and also are somewhat interested. This is for you, but also for me.

I have stories from this semester to last me years already, but I'm only going to do this a day at a time, beginning with today: Sunday, February 8th.

For those who don't know, I am officially moved out of the first apartment I was given. My poor luck with roommates continued, and drove me into a one-bedroom two-person apartment with a senior from Guatemala. For those who don't know, James would like for me to inform you, that's somewhere in Asia.

The perks involved with moving from the one life to the next primarily involves the trip home. It felt great to go run around in the snow with my puppy, and was even fun hanging with my parent's two foreign exchange students. Mi Rin, the younger of the two, learned a hard lesson when agreeing to my deal: I cook lunch, she does the dishes. It's good for her, trust me.

Loading up the van took little time, and big thanks to dad who saved me a trip by following me down to the cities WITH said van. I brought the futon, TV stand, gamecube, dvd player... but the most prized possession in the load was the broom and vaccuum. A fresh start in a clean apartment, I almost felt normal, until dad started asking questions.

"So have you made any friends?"

"sure."

"That aren't on the team?"

shoot.

I know I joked before coming here that I would spend all of my time at the U and not bother trying to make new friends, but I didn't think I'd follow through as much as I have. I tried to explain to my father how the only people my age who are still looking for friends are likely losers, unless they too have transferred, and how I don't mind keeping my head down and mouth shut on this side of the river, but he gave me a stern look and said "make some friends."

I tagged that as the most humorous moment of the day. Having a parent trying to dictate your social life... I know I avoided chuckling until he left.

So after cleaning and arranging furniture, I finally had everything set, and was proud of my living room. Minus one or two things. A: I had left the TV chord for cable back home. B: Everything's set up around a non-existent TV. My roommate insisted we use his TV, which is apparently being stored somewhere right now, so I left mine at home. It's not here yet. For entertainment, I simply trotted over to the gym to watch old men play basketball in some sort of league. It was a slow-paced game, but it looked much better than what I've seen from the intramural squads here.

Long and busy day, capped off with me being bored enough to write half a book on today. If this blog continues, I promise I'll try to keep it shorter!

The... um... well, not The End.

How I miss my hometown church services

Going to church today, I couldn't help but realize how easy it is to miss the quirks of small town, home life... Walking into the door, I was greeted with an excited handshake from one of the old ladies of the church, and a few how-ya-doin's from others before finding my seat.

As the choral introit begins, I can't help but enjoy listening to the soothing sounds of my pastor's familiar old voice drowning out the rest of the choir because he forgot to turn his microphone off, and watch with satisfaction as a young teen suddenly realizes that they were supposed to be lighting the candles, and rushes to the back of the church to grab the lighter. That used to be me, and now, I can rib them about it later.

Then, another surprise memory hits, as we are welcomed with a rare visit from one of the people that also preach from time to time, helping the pastor out with the call to worship and call to confession, among other things.

Up the man creeps, leaning forward towards the microphone, ready to start the service. But he's not quite close enough yet, his eyes judge as they dart quickly from the microphone in front of him to the audience not 20 feet away. Just a little further, his eyes say, and he strains his neck and reaches with his lips to make sure he gets the best possible use out of the microphone.

"GOOD MORNING" he booms out, waking anyone still asleep in the surrounding communities.... "PLEASE FOLLOW ALONG IN YOUR BULLETINS..."

Having a terribly hard time not falling over with my laughter at the memories of this man and his troubles finding the right volume, I accidentally bump my dad, who knows exactly what I'm laughing about. He has a hard time holding it in, biting his tongue and failing to hold the laughter as well. I guess the call to worship was going to have to go by unread by us today