The day didn't have anything unusually excellent about it, but it was good. I had three e-mails to answer, actually, which I did at length. To what degree it's interesting to anyone, I made decent work of the first two and rather poor work of the third, which's the one on which I spent the longest. Hmph.
But I did manage to get in the pool (82 degrees, yeah!) and swim for nigh on an hour (though probably just 35 minutes of anything that could be deemed exercise), and get through all of the second Prydain Chronicles book in one sitting. While still not exactly high literature, it was pretty good. If they keep getting as much better from book to book as the second one was in comparison to the first, the fifth and last may well have earned its Newbery.
I plan, tomorrow, to tackle a whole goal at once by making Erik's birthday-bars. That's one of the easy ones anyway.
But tomorrow June starts, so before too long I'll be trying to do everything at once.
Thanks to everyone leaving messages, comments, IMs, etc. for me; they've been much appreciated.
Tim and I, as it happens, have been broken up for a week now. I don't have anything to say about that specifically, but I do want to say that the nicest thing to come out of it has been the surprise of so-o-o many people telling me to call if I needed anything. I got more phone numbers and goodwill than I know what to do with (if you can't remember whether you were part of it, believe me, you probably were!), and it was just so sweet, and I feel loved. Many thanks to everybody.
-Laurel
5.31.2006
In a Sunny Field
Last night I dreamed about folkdancing for what seemed, upon my waking, like hours. Not at all in a familiar setting--something more hotel-conference-room-looking, dimly lit and with dark red, rich carpeting, and wood paneling or something. In a room to the side we'd go in small groups, often pairs, to watch films of some sort. It was all part, I think, of some mysterious, heroic thing that involved bad guys.
The funny part, I guess, is that when I woke up, I didn't think of most of that right away, but was just happy to have been out folkdancing in my sleep, since I hadn't gotten to do it last night.
The last time I had such a dream, it was much shorter, and taking place outside, in a sunny and grassy field (minus the bad guys, I think...but had there been something I was running from? I can't remember), and I was so happy to be home. I dreamed it in the hotel in Madrid, the morning when we were going to try to make the only plane home, and have to stay in Madrid again if we didn't. That should've been nice, I know, but the three of us, my mom and Aunt Cathy and I, were really scared. We wanted to make the plane. We'd been stranded for a day already and just wanted to get home.
And on the morning we had to get up early to try, I woke from that little dream, and somehow, stupid as it sounds, I had this total feeling of invincibility, like whatever happened, everything would be okay. God was in His heaven, all was right with the world. Nothing could hurt us now, for I had dreamed of folkdancing, I had gotten home.
It had been a big day for being emotional, of course. ...But hey. We got home corporeally that day, too.
I'm not big into dreams having meaning, other than maybe being an internal indication of what you might (but, indeed, might not) be thinking about. (And there is some neuropsychological basis for that theory, by the way, but I'll go into it some other time, instead of doing it here.) Still, I do feel, this morning, a little bit of that kind of...invincibility is too strong a word now, but sort of an anticipation of some sort of eventual happy ending. I mean, how can I not? It's one of the most consistently-happy things I do, and it's hard not to feel even in real life, after folkdancing, like somehow everything's going to turn out well.
-Laurel
The funny part, I guess, is that when I woke up, I didn't think of most of that right away, but was just happy to have been out folkdancing in my sleep, since I hadn't gotten to do it last night.
The last time I had such a dream, it was much shorter, and taking place outside, in a sunny and grassy field (minus the bad guys, I think...but had there been something I was running from? I can't remember), and I was so happy to be home. I dreamed it in the hotel in Madrid, the morning when we were going to try to make the only plane home, and have to stay in Madrid again if we didn't. That should've been nice, I know, but the three of us, my mom and Aunt Cathy and I, were really scared. We wanted to make the plane. We'd been stranded for a day already and just wanted to get home.
And on the morning we had to get up early to try, I woke from that little dream, and somehow, stupid as it sounds, I had this total feeling of invincibility, like whatever happened, everything would be okay. God was in His heaven, all was right with the world. Nothing could hurt us now, for I had dreamed of folkdancing, I had gotten home.
It had been a big day for being emotional, of course. ...But hey. We got home corporeally that day, too.
I'm not big into dreams having meaning, other than maybe being an internal indication of what you might (but, indeed, might not) be thinking about. (And there is some neuropsychological basis for that theory, by the way, but I'll go into it some other time, instead of doing it here.) Still, I do feel, this morning, a little bit of that kind of...invincibility is too strong a word now, but sort of an anticipation of some sort of eventual happy ending. I mean, how can I not? It's one of the most consistently-happy things I do, and it's hard not to feel even in real life, after folkdancing, like somehow everything's going to turn out well.
-Laurel
5.30.2006
Little funny bit and then some bus-in-ess
Look, a word that fits me brilliantly!
Okay, getting down to it:
Ten Things I Want to Do Within the Next Month
(in no particular order)
-Get through the Prydain Chronicles and at least three other Newberys besides High King.
-Make Erik's birthday present that I've owed him since last year.
-Find places to donate my stuff (that's not moving with me) and donate said stuff.
-Have at least one Abbott's run, one more Great Northern Gathering, and one bowling night or minigolf outing.
-Get 140 minutes per week of basically any forms of exercise (oh man. we'll see. sounds easy enough, but I'm a lazy bum in the summer, when I have no folk-dancing companions or dance classes.)
-Make bread at least once and Greek lemon soup at some point ('cause it'd be fun, that's why!)
-Find Westby and Klumpp. Ideally without having to do all the visitors'-pass crud.
-Get in the pool at least three times, even if it's cold and I want to wimp out.
-[this one's a secret, and is cool and fun :)]
-Get out and help with SOMETHING volunteer-related, at least twice
Okay, we'll see what I can do.
Okay, getting down to it:
Ten Things I Want to Do Within the Next Month
(in no particular order)
-Get through the Prydain Chronicles and at least three other Newberys besides High King.
-Make Erik's birthday present that I've owed him since last year.
-Find places to donate my stuff (that's not moving with me) and donate said stuff.
-Have at least one Abbott's run, one more Great Northern Gathering, and one bowling night or minigolf outing.
-Get 140 minutes per week of basically any forms of exercise (oh man. we'll see. sounds easy enough, but I'm a lazy bum in the summer, when I have no folk-dancing companions or dance classes.)
-Make bread at least once and Greek lemon soup at some point ('cause it'd be fun, that's why!)
-Find Westby and Klumpp. Ideally without having to do all the visitors'-pass crud.
-Get in the pool at least three times, even if it's cold and I want to wimp out.
-[this one's a secret, and is cool and fun :)]
-Get out and help with SOMETHING volunteer-related, at least twice
Okay, we'll see what I can do.
5.29.2006
And a return
Two much shorter memories of Basileia that I feel should be added here:
First, the two times we all, instead of praying before dinner, sang the doxology. I just have this memory of this gorgeous--what must've been a four-part harmony, rippling across that room. So many people singing. Oh gosh, how beautiful.
Second, and completely different, a boy who I believe was in my track, one day sporting a top (boughten, not made) that read, And they will know we are Christians by our t-shirts. ...A bold move, and a thought-provoking one.
-Laurel
First, the two times we all, instead of praying before dinner, sang the doxology. I just have this memory of this gorgeous--what must've been a four-part harmony, rippling across that room. So many people singing. Oh gosh, how beautiful.
Second, and completely different, a boy who I believe was in my track, one day sporting a top (boughten, not made) that read, And they will know we are Christians by our t-shirts. ...A bold move, and a thought-provoking one.
-Laurel
5.28.2006
Open Letter
Dear the Fantasy-Writing Community of America from 1964 to the Present,
With Particular Regards to the "Taking Place a Vague Number of Centuries Ago" Division,
STOP TRYING TO BE TOLKIEN. IT DOESN'T WORK.
Also, Susan Cooper and Lloyd Alexander: your secret is out. I know very well that you are really the same person, so this charade must end immediately.
Thank you.
With Particular Regards to the "Taking Place a Vague Number of Centuries Ago" Division,
STOP TRYING TO BE TOLKIEN. IT DOESN'T WORK.
Also, Susan Cooper and Lloyd Alexander: your secret is out. I know very well that you are really the same person, so this charade must end immediately.
Thank you.
5.26.2006
ack
So it occurs to me that there are exactly 13 weeks before I get to go back to school. Even if I were an OG again, it would still be about 12.3 weeks.
Saw Glenn today. Also Ms. Keese; he's been helping with her class. She's mellowed out a lot in the last nine years. She remembered me, though not her insistance that I'd be a journalist someday. That's all to the good, since I don't think I will be.
I've been fine up until tonight, but now I'm incredibly bored.
-Laurel
Saw Glenn today. Also Ms. Keese; he's been helping with her class. She's mellowed out a lot in the last nine years. She remembered me, though not her insistance that I'd be a journalist someday. That's all to the good, since I don't think I will be.
I've been fine up until tonight, but now I'm incredibly bored.
-Laurel
5.24.2006
It Ain't Me, Babe
Tim and I have broken up--for many of the same reasons that Glenn and I did, to be honest. It was a complex thing all round, and I feel like crud, and he most likely feels even more like crud, but neither of us is holed up in our rooms antisocially with chocolate and books and an economy box of Kleenex, so I think we're going to be fairly okay. We're definitely still speaking to each other.
Having seen this coming long ago (far too long ago; for a while now I've been just as shut-down as he has), I think I expected this to feel more like a weight off, and less like a weight on. But that's how it happens.
He and Tom have sent in their deposits and will, in fact, be back next year for grad school. I assume they'll reap the benefits of some of our cooking.
I think I'll make some popcorn and watch M*A*S*H.
-Laurel
Having seen this coming long ago (far too long ago; for a while now I've been just as shut-down as he has), I think I expected this to feel more like a weight off, and less like a weight on. But that's how it happens.
He and Tom have sent in their deposits and will, in fact, be back next year for grad school. I assume they'll reap the benefits of some of our cooking.
I think I'll make some popcorn and watch M*A*S*H.
-Laurel
5.23.2006
Basileia
Basileia is a sort of Christian leadership camp that InterVarsity USA puts on in various places every May/June, though I believe it has different names elsewhere, and though it's certainly more than just leadership. We each attend a series of sessions about topics related to various aspects of being a Christian leader or just learning more about the faith; we each choose the topic for ourselves before we come. ...That's not a great explanation, but the best I can give, particularly if you've never been to an APO conference, which's actually sort of similar, though obviously with a more secular bent.
Driving on the various highways to Basileia, Jessica, Lisa, and I are listening to Jars of Clay's unplugged album. Lisa, driving casually as the sun bathes us and the road ahead, sings one part, usually harmony; sometimes I quietly take another. Jess, sitting behind me, only listens; when we all talk, though, she contributes an equal share.
That's the opening scene that really makes me think of Basileia; we weren't even there yet, but just that warmth, just that coziness, was to mark my five days there. Not fill it--Basileia provokes a wide range of emotions--but such a scene, in the end, was warm and good and an indication of what I met, over and over.
The cast of this play, though they're stripped down almost to two dimensions, since I'm only allowing myself a line or two each for description:
Jess - The quiet, levelheaded girl-next-door type; caring and with an absolutely wonderful giggle.
Lisa - Bubbly and drawly (despite living not-in-the-south); unconsciously jumps from the profound to the random with only a breath in between; loving and funny.
Joe - Witty, talkative, and armed with a wide smile and a wealth of bad puns; opinionated and justice-loving; boyfriend of Andrea.
Andrea - Innocent, sweet, and easily scared, with the most disarming set of big blue puppy eyes ever; but knows how to be both deep and brave when situations demand.
Laura - Pretty and girly in really classic ways; fairly childlike in excitement; super-prepared. Actual trip quote: "Anybody want a Vitamin C Chewable Tablet?"
Josh - Fiance (I can't get that word to accent correctly) of Laura and son of Sandy; very quiet, but steady, and super-sweet to Laura.
Sandy - Runs our InterVarsity chapter. Gregarious; observant; hospitable.
The best way to describe Basileia, after this many days have passed, is in scenes of what I still remember, since I didn't write down any of the descriptions I tried to compose mentally while I was there. Disclaimer, of course, after cognitive-psych class: memories are tricky things, and mine will almost certainly differ a bit in dialogue or description from the actual happening, but shouldn't be too bad otherwise, especially in that most are less than a week old. But make of that whatever you will.
*
Jessica and I sit at a round wooden table in a room with a rustic motif--everything is warm brown wood (and, I want to say, gingham curtains, but I'm not certain), and there's a fireplace to my upper right. Out of the large center window, bookended by narrower windows, is a bright glow that looks like snow in the dusk until you realize that it's really Saranac Lake, bathed in some form of fading light. We hear the clatter of carts being pulled in and out of the kitchen, also to the right, and of dishes being washed. Never having seen the place before, I look around in a sort of warm and fuzzy awe--it's eight-thirty, and dinner is long since over, but the kitchen staff, knowing we've come in late and hungry, has offered to make us peanut butter and jelly; it's really the best they can do at the moment. Jessica and I, both quite hungry, are all for that. Lisa isn't hungry--she had dinner early, in the form of two smallish McDonald's apple pies and a milkshake--so she's ducked out for a bathroom break and a call to Andrew, her new boyfriend.
Peanut butter and jelly never conveyed so much hospitality. Busy as they are, the staff keep asking--you can tell from tones, you know, how things are asked, and I hear nothing but sincerity--"What kind?" What kind of jelly do we want? (Their stock is impressive. I go for apple.) What kind of juice? Do we want any fruit or vegetables on the side? Is everything okay? They're not employees per se; they're work crew kids, many from SUNY Fredonia, who're bussing tables and doing laundry and dishes so that they could get scholarship money to stay for next week's activities. Less than a quarter-hour here, and I'm already impressed.
*
Free time on Sunday, our first full day, and rain speckles the windowpane of our room in East Lodge. I've stopped into the room briefly to grab my Fluxx deck and see if Joe and Andrea want to come play it--I'm already thinking of teaching AK and Laniece, two new friends I've made during the first "track time," as the hours blocked out for our leadership-training sessions are described--but the Servant Leaders group, defined as "everyone from school except Andrea and me, who're in different tracks," is talking intently (though without Josh and Sandy, who're elsewhere) about chapter matters, plans for the fall. I listen at first, then end up sitting cross-legged on the thin carpet with the others (Joe and Andrea also join the group), in a semicircle, talking.
It's oddly like APO, high-flying dreams colliding with what we know reality will probably be. Executive boards have the same problems everywhere, it turns out--assuming, for one, that everyone's as excited and active as the leaders in the room. What can we do? How can we make ourselves better-known? How can and should we impact the campus? How to love, how to do, how to be? I try to explain some of the mistakes I think we made in APO, so they aren't repeated here. They nod--turns out I'm the only one with any executive experience--and we all talk some more. Finally we fall silent, overwhelmed, excited, daunted, and look at each other.
"Let's pray," Laura says decidedly, and I think everyone's glad to hear it. All circling, we do; I can feel her heart beating in her fingertips as her left hand meets my right. We're all glad for the contact and the solidarity; we enjoy the warmth.
Lisa then pulls out her guitar, running her thumb across the strings, pulls out a binder full of lyrics and guitar tabs. Our spontaneous planning session turns to singing, all together, and we end up singing until track time comes again.
Later that night, we do it again; our chapter (all of us this time) meets as a group to check up on things, and happens to be assigned a room in the work crew's lodge house. Not having any chapter-time to be at, they've begun a two-guitar singing session of their own, and when our chapter time is done, we sit down and stay for a while, at times singing things we've already sung earlier. They're as good the second time around.
*
Monday is the worst day; things just don't come together in track-time particularly, and it's frustrating. I'm reminded, too, of the difficulty in large-group worship music that you just can't get into; happy songs that were so sincere yesterday seem inapplicable today, and slower, softer songs seem heavy-handed.
But things get better as the night progresses, and soon I'm watching InterVarsity staff attempt to start a campfire--which, by the way, is really funny. Apparently none of them have ever been Scouts, or, for that matter, pyromaniacs, because they simply cannot set the larger logs alight. "We're InterVarsity," comments Greg Jao, sort of the Basileia master of ceremonies. "We're kinda wordy and nerdy." (That's about the best and most apt description of IV as a body that I've ever heard, in fact. And how I love that about them!)
After watching this production for about half an hour (complete with flaming dryer lint, thrown hopefully into the thick of the fire), our group leaves, and I end up following Jessica back to where the Fredonia kids are. Though Jess does not sing loudly, it turns out that she really likes it, and two guitar sessions the day before have only left her wanting more. We go back to their lodge, hoping they're singing again, and they are; we take places together and come to spend an enjoyable time; an eventual rendition of a Newsboys song is my warmest memory of the night.
*
Our conference is fairly ethnically diverse--there's a large number of Africans (and not all African-Americans, either; some are apparently international students), probably an even larger number of Latinos, and quite a few of Asian descent, of which the aforementioned Greg Jao is one. He jokes that worship, under these circumstances, should be incredibly uncomfortable, since so many different styles exist across groups and should all be honored.
But singing in Spanish, rather than being a cultural lesson as it is for, say, Joe, makes me literally squeak with excitement the first couple of times around. For we actually do that at least once every alternate worship session (of which there were nine across the five-ish days we were there), and often with greater frequency. I find myself translating for Lisa and Joe; worship leaders back at school, the words are important to them. And I can tell Lisa's already thinking of incorporating them into the school repertoire.
A group of black boys punctuates many songs with funky-awesome clapped rhythms that Lisa and I try to follow; I look over at them and see them jumping, bending, and generally having a great time. Some kids are really overt about worship, reaching with their hands, dancing to the strong beats, closing their eyes; some stay still, hands in their pockets, mouthing the words as they watch; many, or most, are somewhere in the middle. I'm impressed by the wide range of styles (to take Greg's term, though it sounds perhaps a bit formal) happily coexisting--it reminds me of the Excel conferences, from back in junior high. Probably someone in the crowd feels out of place, unfortunately. But I can't see anyone who definitely does.
"They even sing in the shower in [voice] parts," says Joe, awed by his cabin-mates. "I think they cycle--one tenor'll leave a stall, another'll take his place. It's amazing."
Over and over while at Basileia, I'm struck by the consideration for others (except sometimes when others are trying to sleep; our hall gets a bit noisy then!), by the friendliness, by the love. There's plenty of honesty, and not always happiness, but there is a lot of camaraderie, a lot of love.
*
Not that's it's perfect, of course. I did end up a little frustrated with my track, which I had thought was supposed to be about how best to live as a Christian and yet not be alienating to the outside world. And there is some of that, but much of it's understanding the nature of the Fall, and some things I've heard before. And my leader doesn't always seem completely interested in what he's saying.
But AK and Laniece are always good groupmates to hang out with. Both were on the work crew the previous week, helping to set up for everyone's arrival, and already know and tease each other. Both study nuclear-related things, and so, naturally, are at least a little geeky. They clearly care about what we're talking about, and are intelligent, and go out of their ways to talk to me; they seem to consider me a friend. AK asked a lot of questions about my school, trying to figure out where in the state it is; he's from out of state, so it's a little difficult ("in the middle of nowhere" is not quite helpful, right? And neither, though it was a nice thought on Andreina's part, is "in a special place in my heart").
Laniece, in fact, is a bookworm, and definitely knows her way around correct English; I actually get a little jealous, as in, dude, I will NOT be outgeeked by a PHYSICS major!
*
Jess, Laura, Josh, and I end up spending Tuesday night with some of the NYU kids, watching Invisible Children.
Oh my gosh, there's no way to describe this documentary (55 minutes long); you have to see it. Just see it. Please, a dozen times please.
It leaves us tear-streaked, somber, and pondering a lot of forms of injustice. How can anything like that be allowed to happen? What on earth could be going on? Is there something we can do, even from here? Praying seems somehow inadequate, however much we've heard about praying boldly. We talk, and we hammer out, if not action, at least opinions, and promise ourselves to confront it with action later. ...We'll see how we do; summer is long, and people are fallible. But I hope we do something, sometime.
Our conversation about the children ends, and, with all of us girls together in our room, pajamaed and mostly in bed, we turn in speech to the group's couples--Lisa and Andrew, Andrea and Joe, Laura and Josh. Each girl tells stories, satisfying our girly-curious, "How did it start?", and trying to describe the niceness.
They do, yes, know how blessed they are.
In a perfect Friendship this Appreciative love is, I think, often so great and so firmly based that each member of the circle feels, in his secret heart, humbled before all the rest. Sometimes he wonders what he is doing there among his betters.
I felt that a lot around the girls particularly.
*
Glad as I am that Andrea got the easy course, since she was the frightened one and Joe and I were excited, I start to think that maybe I should have been a little concerned.
Basileia has a ropes course, and it is delightfully free of charge. Thinking back to my happy fake-rock-climbing days in high school, I enthusiastically signed up to go on it, and found that Joe and Andrea had done the same. Andrea freaked out the whole time we were waiting (not because of heights, but because of difficulty and stuff), and Joe teased her mercilessly, and I discovered that it is impossible to convince Joe that maybe he should take pity on people more scared than him. :-P
But Andrea ended up being placed on the easier side of the course, and Joe and I, who were on either side of her as we waited in line, were given the hard one. This is how I came to find myself standing--though clearly safe, 'cause of all the gear and clips and whatnot--on a single, long, thin strand of outstretched rope, holding another long, thin strand of outstretched rope, this one slanting, in the cold and (light) rain.
"Lean forward as you go," cautions the spotter ahead of me, "or you'll tip back."
I do, but apparently not enough, and suddenly whooooa, I sway slowly, dizzily back, my feet rising; I'm afraid they'll come right off the rope, leaving me to dangle in midair. But I have apparently leaned enough that the equal and opposite reaction kicks in; the rope does a pendulum-motion back the other way, turning me fully right-side up and leaving me to exhale suddenly, grabbing harder, looking over. "Okay," I say shakily, "forward."
"Yeah," says the guy, "or you'll really go backwards as you get to the middle." I lean farther forward than seems reasonable and inch my way along.
The zipline section of the course makes me the most nervous, actually, as all things that look like roller-coaster drops do, but the drop is actually negligible, and I find myself enjoying it. The end part is the "leap of faith" (pun probably intended), wherein I basically have to leap five or six feet in front of me with no ropes to crawl out on (wow, it is a long way to the ground; good thing I don't mind heights!)--pretty much no ropes, in fact, besides the ones supporting me should I miss the mark--and grab a longish, narrow metal bar. From there I assume I'll be lowered to the ground.
They make me count to three aloud before I jump, and I do, surprised to find myself a bit nervous, and launch myself forward before I think about it too much. My hands meet the bar--and suddenly, painfully give, as though they're pried open forcibly; I plummet for a second before I discover, for the first time all course, that the ropes really are properly connected--I swing gently back and forth in midair. Joe and Andrea are watching from the ground (I am last to finish, 'cause people go one at a time) with a bit of concern; the spotter-guy at this station tells us that, yeah, I was pretty much going to slide off, the way the rain's slicked the metal. So my run came to an anticlimactic, hand-scouring finish (actually, the scouring had already taken place...wet metal rope burns after a while!), but it was fun.
*
I've never actually played Band-Aid Brigade before--considering all the icebreakers and team-builders I've been through in my 21 years, this is fairly impressive--but it's late on Wednesday night, and our chapter-group is doing just that, writing what we like about each other on blank address labels and sticking them to each other. It's fun to do for others; embarrassing, but warm, to have happen to you. ...Turns out I haven't annoyed everyone by trying to be the voice of caution during all our plans; they seem to be glad for it.
We take a long time with the game, growing tired, but enjoying it. Tomorrow we'll go home. ...Back in our cabins, just before we fall asleep, Jessica comes around as she's done other nights, climbing or ducking under our bunk ladders to give each of us a hug as we settle into bed. "Love you," she tells us, and then crawls into her own bunk.
*
The final worship session--the last large-group activity--is bittersweet; we're having so much fun, but know we're about to go back home. Wryly I think of 1 Peter, addressed to the believers in exile--that's all of us, too, in a diaspora across the country, some of us back to our colleges, most of us back to our homes.
It really does feel like we've spent time together, in a big wonderful community, only to be sent out. So maybe it's for the best that we leave while we still have a glow, before we can grow fully used to how amazing everything has been.
*
Jessica has left with Joe and Andrea, since she flies out of the Albany airport, and that's closer to Joe than to Lisa and me. So Lisa and I drive back to Monroe County, talking most of the way, singing for some of it; we spend a lot of time on one of the Spanish songs because she's trying to write the lyrics down.
Lisa suggests one last prayer-time before we leave each other, so we have one, and then I go back to my mom, who's come to the mall parking lot to meet me, since Lisa's in the area, but still a good distance from my house. We'll have a reunion next day, it turns out, because I'm forgetting my smaller bag (which I think is zipped inside my larger bag; it's on Lisa's van's floor instead), but for now Lisa and I hug and say goodbye, and then I get in my mom's vehicle, and we drive home.
*
Joe's and my homecomings have shared a weird thing, though he seems to have expected it more: our respective parents don't seem interested in how things went. I mean, my mom asks about the food and the lodging, making sure they were all right, and thinks the ropes course is pretty cool. But...but she was a little dubious about my track, thinking the description didn't really indicate it being about anything particularly specific (and in a way, she was right, though in a way she wasn't)...doesn't she want to know what I did there? I spent a lot of time wondering how I'd explain it--apparently and surprisingly without cause.
My dad's few questions are similar, though with a sort of edge to them like, did they try to make you deny yourself anything in that Christian camp? He asks whether I could have gotten to a TV, asks how much time we were made to spend in worship sessions. In the end, he asks, "Well, did you have fun?" I nod. "Then it's worth it."
But it wasn't *all* fun. It was...it was everything. Fun, joyful, sad, humbling, painful, worrying, exciting, loving...would it have been worth it to you if I'd enjoyed it but not had fun?
I don't say that, though.
*
Almost five days thereafter, and I still haven't done any of the things I meant to do--research the invisible children, the Veritas Forum--though I did read all three of the books I bought at Basileia (one very good, one pretty good, one sort of mediocre).
My dad, taking the house-selling seriously as time marches on and a buyer isn't found, asked me last night to pray about it, saying he thought I was the one with the "direct line" to God.
Making God sound like a busy white-collar CEO strikes me awkwardly. "This isn't sainthood," I tell him, trying to laugh.
We have a potential buyer as of tonight; he repeated it. God hears me, he opines. "It's not an exclusive offer, God hearing people," I say as he leaves, quietly; my mom hears me, which I didn't really intend, but doesn't really say anything, just kind of looks. I shrug to try to break the tension.
Is that what I wanted when I wished my parents would try to understand?
*
I should have written things down as I went; five days have made many things murky, heavy-handed, and words are already a difficult medium with which to describe such things.
I hope I did okay, even on the parts that'll sound weird just by description. The whole feeling of Basileia was often like life amplified; the whole world seemed bigger there. ...For what it's worth, Greg hammered into us that we should get sleep while at Basileia, and we did a fair job of it, so our minds and moods were about as you'd expect.
So here we all are, spread out, some of us permanently changed; may we live well enough for others to be made happier, as we were.
-Laurel
Driving on the various highways to Basileia, Jessica, Lisa, and I are listening to Jars of Clay's unplugged album. Lisa, driving casually as the sun bathes us and the road ahead, sings one part, usually harmony; sometimes I quietly take another. Jess, sitting behind me, only listens; when we all talk, though, she contributes an equal share.
That's the opening scene that really makes me think of Basileia; we weren't even there yet, but just that warmth, just that coziness, was to mark my five days there. Not fill it--Basileia provokes a wide range of emotions--but such a scene, in the end, was warm and good and an indication of what I met, over and over.
The cast of this play, though they're stripped down almost to two dimensions, since I'm only allowing myself a line or two each for description:
Jess - The quiet, levelheaded girl-next-door type; caring and with an absolutely wonderful giggle.
Lisa - Bubbly and drawly (despite living not-in-the-south); unconsciously jumps from the profound to the random with only a breath in between; loving and funny.
Joe - Witty, talkative, and armed with a wide smile and a wealth of bad puns; opinionated and justice-loving; boyfriend of Andrea.
Andrea - Innocent, sweet, and easily scared, with the most disarming set of big blue puppy eyes ever; but knows how to be both deep and brave when situations demand.
Laura - Pretty and girly in really classic ways; fairly childlike in excitement; super-prepared. Actual trip quote: "Anybody want a Vitamin C Chewable Tablet?"
Josh - Fiance (I can't get that word to accent correctly) of Laura and son of Sandy; very quiet, but steady, and super-sweet to Laura.
Sandy - Runs our InterVarsity chapter. Gregarious; observant; hospitable.
The best way to describe Basileia, after this many days have passed, is in scenes of what I still remember, since I didn't write down any of the descriptions I tried to compose mentally while I was there. Disclaimer, of course, after cognitive-psych class: memories are tricky things, and mine will almost certainly differ a bit in dialogue or description from the actual happening, but shouldn't be too bad otherwise, especially in that most are less than a week old. But make of that whatever you will.
*
Jessica and I sit at a round wooden table in a room with a rustic motif--everything is warm brown wood (and, I want to say, gingham curtains, but I'm not certain), and there's a fireplace to my upper right. Out of the large center window, bookended by narrower windows, is a bright glow that looks like snow in the dusk until you realize that it's really Saranac Lake, bathed in some form of fading light. We hear the clatter of carts being pulled in and out of the kitchen, also to the right, and of dishes being washed. Never having seen the place before, I look around in a sort of warm and fuzzy awe--it's eight-thirty, and dinner is long since over, but the kitchen staff, knowing we've come in late and hungry, has offered to make us peanut butter and jelly; it's really the best they can do at the moment. Jessica and I, both quite hungry, are all for that. Lisa isn't hungry--she had dinner early, in the form of two smallish McDonald's apple pies and a milkshake--so she's ducked out for a bathroom break and a call to Andrew, her new boyfriend.
Peanut butter and jelly never conveyed so much hospitality. Busy as they are, the staff keep asking--you can tell from tones, you know, how things are asked, and I hear nothing but sincerity--"What kind?" What kind of jelly do we want? (Their stock is impressive. I go for apple.) What kind of juice? Do we want any fruit or vegetables on the side? Is everything okay? They're not employees per se; they're work crew kids, many from SUNY Fredonia, who're bussing tables and doing laundry and dishes so that they could get scholarship money to stay for next week's activities. Less than a quarter-hour here, and I'm already impressed.
*
Free time on Sunday, our first full day, and rain speckles the windowpane of our room in East Lodge. I've stopped into the room briefly to grab my Fluxx deck and see if Joe and Andrea want to come play it--I'm already thinking of teaching AK and Laniece, two new friends I've made during the first "track time," as the hours blocked out for our leadership-training sessions are described--but the Servant Leaders group, defined as "everyone from school except Andrea and me, who're in different tracks," is talking intently (though without Josh and Sandy, who're elsewhere) about chapter matters, plans for the fall. I listen at first, then end up sitting cross-legged on the thin carpet with the others (Joe and Andrea also join the group), in a semicircle, talking.
It's oddly like APO, high-flying dreams colliding with what we know reality will probably be. Executive boards have the same problems everywhere, it turns out--assuming, for one, that everyone's as excited and active as the leaders in the room. What can we do? How can we make ourselves better-known? How can and should we impact the campus? How to love, how to do, how to be? I try to explain some of the mistakes I think we made in APO, so they aren't repeated here. They nod--turns out I'm the only one with any executive experience--and we all talk some more. Finally we fall silent, overwhelmed, excited, daunted, and look at each other.
"Let's pray," Laura says decidedly, and I think everyone's glad to hear it. All circling, we do; I can feel her heart beating in her fingertips as her left hand meets my right. We're all glad for the contact and the solidarity; we enjoy the warmth.
Lisa then pulls out her guitar, running her thumb across the strings, pulls out a binder full of lyrics and guitar tabs. Our spontaneous planning session turns to singing, all together, and we end up singing until track time comes again.
Later that night, we do it again; our chapter (all of us this time) meets as a group to check up on things, and happens to be assigned a room in the work crew's lodge house. Not having any chapter-time to be at, they've begun a two-guitar singing session of their own, and when our chapter time is done, we sit down and stay for a while, at times singing things we've already sung earlier. They're as good the second time around.
*
Monday is the worst day; things just don't come together in track-time particularly, and it's frustrating. I'm reminded, too, of the difficulty in large-group worship music that you just can't get into; happy songs that were so sincere yesterday seem inapplicable today, and slower, softer songs seem heavy-handed.
But things get better as the night progresses, and soon I'm watching InterVarsity staff attempt to start a campfire--which, by the way, is really funny. Apparently none of them have ever been Scouts, or, for that matter, pyromaniacs, because they simply cannot set the larger logs alight. "We're InterVarsity," comments Greg Jao, sort of the Basileia master of ceremonies. "We're kinda wordy and nerdy." (That's about the best and most apt description of IV as a body that I've ever heard, in fact. And how I love that about them!)
After watching this production for about half an hour (complete with flaming dryer lint, thrown hopefully into the thick of the fire), our group leaves, and I end up following Jessica back to where the Fredonia kids are. Though Jess does not sing loudly, it turns out that she really likes it, and two guitar sessions the day before have only left her wanting more. We go back to their lodge, hoping they're singing again, and they are; we take places together and come to spend an enjoyable time; an eventual rendition of a Newsboys song is my warmest memory of the night.
*
Our conference is fairly ethnically diverse--there's a large number of Africans (and not all African-Americans, either; some are apparently international students), probably an even larger number of Latinos, and quite a few of Asian descent, of which the aforementioned Greg Jao is one. He jokes that worship, under these circumstances, should be incredibly uncomfortable, since so many different styles exist across groups and should all be honored.
But singing in Spanish, rather than being a cultural lesson as it is for, say, Joe, makes me literally squeak with excitement the first couple of times around. For we actually do that at least once every alternate worship session (of which there were nine across the five-ish days we were there), and often with greater frequency. I find myself translating for Lisa and Joe; worship leaders back at school, the words are important to them. And I can tell Lisa's already thinking of incorporating them into the school repertoire.
A group of black boys punctuates many songs with funky-awesome clapped rhythms that Lisa and I try to follow; I look over at them and see them jumping, bending, and generally having a great time. Some kids are really overt about worship, reaching with their hands, dancing to the strong beats, closing their eyes; some stay still, hands in their pockets, mouthing the words as they watch; many, or most, are somewhere in the middle. I'm impressed by the wide range of styles (to take Greg's term, though it sounds perhaps a bit formal) happily coexisting--it reminds me of the Excel conferences, from back in junior high. Probably someone in the crowd feels out of place, unfortunately. But I can't see anyone who definitely does.
"They even sing in the shower in [voice] parts," says Joe, awed by his cabin-mates. "I think they cycle--one tenor'll leave a stall, another'll take his place. It's amazing."
Over and over while at Basileia, I'm struck by the consideration for others (except sometimes when others are trying to sleep; our hall gets a bit noisy then!), by the friendliness, by the love. There's plenty of honesty, and not always happiness, but there is a lot of camaraderie, a lot of love.
*
Not that's it's perfect, of course. I did end up a little frustrated with my track, which I had thought was supposed to be about how best to live as a Christian and yet not be alienating to the outside world. And there is some of that, but much of it's understanding the nature of the Fall, and some things I've heard before. And my leader doesn't always seem completely interested in what he's saying.
But AK and Laniece are always good groupmates to hang out with. Both were on the work crew the previous week, helping to set up for everyone's arrival, and already know and tease each other. Both study nuclear-related things, and so, naturally, are at least a little geeky. They clearly care about what we're talking about, and are intelligent, and go out of their ways to talk to me; they seem to consider me a friend. AK asked a lot of questions about my school, trying to figure out where in the state it is; he's from out of state, so it's a little difficult ("in the middle of nowhere" is not quite helpful, right? And neither, though it was a nice thought on Andreina's part, is "in a special place in my heart").
Laniece, in fact, is a bookworm, and definitely knows her way around correct English; I actually get a little jealous, as in, dude, I will NOT be outgeeked by a PHYSICS major!
*
Jess, Laura, Josh, and I end up spending Tuesday night with some of the NYU kids, watching Invisible Children.
Oh my gosh, there's no way to describe this documentary (55 minutes long); you have to see it. Just see it. Please, a dozen times please.
It leaves us tear-streaked, somber, and pondering a lot of forms of injustice. How can anything like that be allowed to happen? What on earth could be going on? Is there something we can do, even from here? Praying seems somehow inadequate, however much we've heard about praying boldly. We talk, and we hammer out, if not action, at least opinions, and promise ourselves to confront it with action later. ...We'll see how we do; summer is long, and people are fallible. But I hope we do something, sometime.
Our conversation about the children ends, and, with all of us girls together in our room, pajamaed and mostly in bed, we turn in speech to the group's couples--Lisa and Andrew, Andrea and Joe, Laura and Josh. Each girl tells stories, satisfying our girly-curious, "How did it start?", and trying to describe the niceness.
They do, yes, know how blessed they are.
In a perfect Friendship this Appreciative love is, I think, often so great and so firmly based that each member of the circle feels, in his secret heart, humbled before all the rest. Sometimes he wonders what he is doing there among his betters.
I felt that a lot around the girls particularly.
*
Glad as I am that Andrea got the easy course, since she was the frightened one and Joe and I were excited, I start to think that maybe I should have been a little concerned.
Basileia has a ropes course, and it is delightfully free of charge. Thinking back to my happy fake-rock-climbing days in high school, I enthusiastically signed up to go on it, and found that Joe and Andrea had done the same. Andrea freaked out the whole time we were waiting (not because of heights, but because of difficulty and stuff), and Joe teased her mercilessly, and I discovered that it is impossible to convince Joe that maybe he should take pity on people more scared than him. :-P
But Andrea ended up being placed on the easier side of the course, and Joe and I, who were on either side of her as we waited in line, were given the hard one. This is how I came to find myself standing--though clearly safe, 'cause of all the gear and clips and whatnot--on a single, long, thin strand of outstretched rope, holding another long, thin strand of outstretched rope, this one slanting, in the cold and (light) rain.
"Lean forward as you go," cautions the spotter ahead of me, "or you'll tip back."
I do, but apparently not enough, and suddenly whooooa, I sway slowly, dizzily back, my feet rising; I'm afraid they'll come right off the rope, leaving me to dangle in midair. But I have apparently leaned enough that the equal and opposite reaction kicks in; the rope does a pendulum-motion back the other way, turning me fully right-side up and leaving me to exhale suddenly, grabbing harder, looking over. "Okay," I say shakily, "forward."
"Yeah," says the guy, "or you'll really go backwards as you get to the middle." I lean farther forward than seems reasonable and inch my way along.
The zipline section of the course makes me the most nervous, actually, as all things that look like roller-coaster drops do, but the drop is actually negligible, and I find myself enjoying it. The end part is the "leap of faith" (pun probably intended), wherein I basically have to leap five or six feet in front of me with no ropes to crawl out on (wow, it is a long way to the ground; good thing I don't mind heights!)--pretty much no ropes, in fact, besides the ones supporting me should I miss the mark--and grab a longish, narrow metal bar. From there I assume I'll be lowered to the ground.
They make me count to three aloud before I jump, and I do, surprised to find myself a bit nervous, and launch myself forward before I think about it too much. My hands meet the bar--and suddenly, painfully give, as though they're pried open forcibly; I plummet for a second before I discover, for the first time all course, that the ropes really are properly connected--I swing gently back and forth in midair. Joe and Andrea are watching from the ground (I am last to finish, 'cause people go one at a time) with a bit of concern; the spotter-guy at this station tells us that, yeah, I was pretty much going to slide off, the way the rain's slicked the metal. So my run came to an anticlimactic, hand-scouring finish (actually, the scouring had already taken place...wet metal rope burns after a while!), but it was fun.
*
I've never actually played Band-Aid Brigade before--considering all the icebreakers and team-builders I've been through in my 21 years, this is fairly impressive--but it's late on Wednesday night, and our chapter-group is doing just that, writing what we like about each other on blank address labels and sticking them to each other. It's fun to do for others; embarrassing, but warm, to have happen to you. ...Turns out I haven't annoyed everyone by trying to be the voice of caution during all our plans; they seem to be glad for it.
We take a long time with the game, growing tired, but enjoying it. Tomorrow we'll go home. ...Back in our cabins, just before we fall asleep, Jessica comes around as she's done other nights, climbing or ducking under our bunk ladders to give each of us a hug as we settle into bed. "Love you," she tells us, and then crawls into her own bunk.
*
The final worship session--the last large-group activity--is bittersweet; we're having so much fun, but know we're about to go back home. Wryly I think of 1 Peter, addressed to the believers in exile--that's all of us, too, in a diaspora across the country, some of us back to our colleges, most of us back to our homes.
It really does feel like we've spent time together, in a big wonderful community, only to be sent out. So maybe it's for the best that we leave while we still have a glow, before we can grow fully used to how amazing everything has been.
*
Jessica has left with Joe and Andrea, since she flies out of the Albany airport, and that's closer to Joe than to Lisa and me. So Lisa and I drive back to Monroe County, talking most of the way, singing for some of it; we spend a lot of time on one of the Spanish songs because she's trying to write the lyrics down.
Lisa suggests one last prayer-time before we leave each other, so we have one, and then I go back to my mom, who's come to the mall parking lot to meet me, since Lisa's in the area, but still a good distance from my house. We'll have a reunion next day, it turns out, because I'm forgetting my smaller bag (which I think is zipped inside my larger bag; it's on Lisa's van's floor instead), but for now Lisa and I hug and say goodbye, and then I get in my mom's vehicle, and we drive home.
*
Joe's and my homecomings have shared a weird thing, though he seems to have expected it more: our respective parents don't seem interested in how things went. I mean, my mom asks about the food and the lodging, making sure they were all right, and thinks the ropes course is pretty cool. But...but she was a little dubious about my track, thinking the description didn't really indicate it being about anything particularly specific (and in a way, she was right, though in a way she wasn't)...doesn't she want to know what I did there? I spent a lot of time wondering how I'd explain it--apparently and surprisingly without cause.
My dad's few questions are similar, though with a sort of edge to them like, did they try to make you deny yourself anything in that Christian camp? He asks whether I could have gotten to a TV, asks how much time we were made to spend in worship sessions. In the end, he asks, "Well, did you have fun?" I nod. "Then it's worth it."
But it wasn't *all* fun. It was...it was everything. Fun, joyful, sad, humbling, painful, worrying, exciting, loving...would it have been worth it to you if I'd enjoyed it but not had fun?
I don't say that, though.
*
Almost five days thereafter, and I still haven't done any of the things I meant to do--research the invisible children, the Veritas Forum--though I did read all three of the books I bought at Basileia (one very good, one pretty good, one sort of mediocre).
My dad, taking the house-selling seriously as time marches on and a buyer isn't found, asked me last night to pray about it, saying he thought I was the one with the "direct line" to God.
Making God sound like a busy white-collar CEO strikes me awkwardly. "This isn't sainthood," I tell him, trying to laugh.
We have a potential buyer as of tonight; he repeated it. God hears me, he opines. "It's not an exclusive offer, God hearing people," I say as he leaves, quietly; my mom hears me, which I didn't really intend, but doesn't really say anything, just kind of looks. I shrug to try to break the tension.
Is that what I wanted when I wished my parents would try to understand?
*
I should have written things down as I went; five days have made many things murky, heavy-handed, and words are already a difficult medium with which to describe such things.
I hope I did okay, even on the parts that'll sound weird just by description. The whole feeling of Basileia was often like life amplified; the whole world seemed bigger there. ...For what it's worth, Greg hammered into us that we should get sleep while at Basileia, and we did a fair job of it, so our minds and moods were about as you'd expect.
So here we all are, spread out, some of us permanently changed; may we live well enough for others to be made happier, as we were.
-Laurel
5.19.2006
Pre-Basileia Entry
First of all: my brother is, at this moment, attending the senior prom. Stag, but apparently fine with that. So he did the whole tuxedo thing and all. Everybody say awwwww.
Secondly, and almost completely unrelatedly (though one warm memory of being with t3h br0 when we were little was him making up stories involving the cast of ST: TNG): good gracious.
Thirdly, the major events of Senior Week (in mostly-chronological order): Tim's thesis almost got rejected, then got approved. He and Chris and Tara and I went for wood-fired pizza on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. He, Emily, Albert, and I all saw alpacas, and they were soft and friendly, and they tickled when they ate out of my hand; I don't actually know if I've ever fed a farm-type animal before. Not that I haven't had the opportunity, but I've always lacked the inclination.
...A bunch of us had a cinematic double-feature (courtesy of Tom's DVD player and projector) and watched Narnia and The PageMaster, both of which were good to see again. Still others of us went bowling late in the week, and it turns out that having a ball specifically fitted to your fingers really does help your shot; this is the first bowling outing in perhaps years where no one has offered, I suppose well-meaningly, to "teach me how" to bowl. I went home for a day to drop off a whole carload of crud, then went back to school the next.
...I did some further packing, but not nearly fast enough, and ended up with less than three hours of sleep on the night before graduation, and pretty much freaked out from the time I woke up until the time we met up with Lisa and got going to Basileia, at which point I relaxed, as I should have anyway.
In news since I got home, Tim really is going off to sea for the summer. To California in June, to learn everything he needs to know; sailing on the ocean all July with the rest of the crew.
...The Basileia thing's going to take a while to write, but I really am going to do it, and hopefully soon, before I forget the specifics on how amazing it was.
-Laurel
Secondly, and almost completely unrelatedly (though one warm memory of being with t3h br0 when we were little was him making up stories involving the cast of ST: TNG): good gracious.
Thirdly, the major events of Senior Week (in mostly-chronological order): Tim's thesis almost got rejected, then got approved. He and Chris and Tara and I went for wood-fired pizza on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. He, Emily, Albert, and I all saw alpacas, and they were soft and friendly, and they tickled when they ate out of my hand; I don't actually know if I've ever fed a farm-type animal before. Not that I haven't had the opportunity, but I've always lacked the inclination.
...A bunch of us had a cinematic double-feature (courtesy of Tom's DVD player and projector) and watched Narnia and The PageMaster, both of which were good to see again. Still others of us went bowling late in the week, and it turns out that having a ball specifically fitted to your fingers really does help your shot; this is the first bowling outing in perhaps years where no one has offered, I suppose well-meaningly, to "teach me how" to bowl. I went home for a day to drop off a whole carload of crud, then went back to school the next.
...I did some further packing, but not nearly fast enough, and ended up with less than three hours of sleep on the night before graduation, and pretty much freaked out from the time I woke up until the time we met up with Lisa and got going to Basileia, at which point I relaxed, as I should have anyway.
In news since I got home, Tim really is going off to sea for the summer. To California in June, to learn everything he needs to know; sailing on the ocean all July with the rest of the crew.
...The Basileia thing's going to take a while to write, but I really am going to do it, and hopefully soon, before I forget the specifics on how amazing it was.
-Laurel
5.03.2006
-quick summary-
Birthday was lovely. Text/Image crit went all right, and worlds better than the last in any case. Had both lunch and dinner with IVers, once here, once across the street. Undertook perhaps my two favorite cooking projects, bread and gingerbread. In this case, said bread was sesame-and-cheese, which I made for Lily Jo's twenty-first birthday as well, coincidentally enough. (Actually, this was the bread for Dustin and Kat. So that's done.) Went to an amazing folk dancing session (though I had to miss the first half-hour, 'cause'a the gingerbread still baking). Went to Midnight Breakfast, which was fun.
All in all, a good day no matter how you slice it.
...but Ma'Navu, always my favorite song for watching others, will never feel right again, with Albert and Todd and maybe Tom missing from it for good.
-Laurel
All in all, a good day no matter how you slice it.
...but Ma'Navu, always my favorite song for watching others, will never feel right again, with Albert and Todd and maybe Tom missing from it for good.
-Laurel
5.02.2006
::a la Brandon:: IT'S MY BIRTHDAY; B'GAWWWWK!
And it is, too, even though it's only been so for an hour and a half. I'm sitting here with wet hair, so even though I'm up late, I won't have to get up really early tomorrow.
As mentioned, we got a spot in the second crit day. And a good thing, too: everyone who went today got pretty well mauled; some kids in the group are so mean. Even one or two of the English majors; you'd think they, not used to trials-by-fire like the BFAs, could keep civil tongues in their heads. Poor gentle Haley, for whom all three crits this semester were bad (actually, I thought her first one was okay); she feels like a failure, and she's totally not.
Which's why I love my current project partners, too, because they came up with something so constructive to do about all this classmate vitriol. ...Kat and Dustin talked it over before I got to the book-assembling session tonight, went out to Wegmans, and actually bought doughnut holes and juice for the class. They didn't do it as a bribe, but explained to me that they thought crit'd been really rough and unfair today, and that maybe if we made it more pleasant, everyone might learn to lighten up.
Our project came together after about 2349094 catches and screwups and technical difficulties on my end (and one on theirs); we made a book. It's not the most professional-looking thing, but it shall indeed do. Especially if people don't notice the page where we had to mess with the margins, haha.
I seriously do owe them both some homemade cheese bread, and shall get right on that, Wednesday if I can.
Meanwhile, how am I spending my birthday after crit? Hopefully with a nap, and then IV lunch, and then a long stretch of whatever I want. Then dinner across the street (haha, birthday dinner, SUNY-food style!) and some goody-making for folk dancing, since we're having an end-of-semester par-tay, and Rafi's even coming all the way from home for it (and maybe Brian, too, since someone has to drive)! After said par-tay, it's not like we'll be hungry, but I'll probably go to Midnight Breakfast anyway, just to hang out and drink juice and savor the idea that I don't actually have a true final until Thursday (since the one for dance is not at all serious).
Mmph, growing tired. Must hang out for few minutes more, then haul blow dryer to bathroom to dry my hair (yeah, even with 24-hour quiet hours, I probably should not run that here at two in the morning, lest I wake up the poor quiet exchange-student boy next door), then go to bed.
-Laurel
As mentioned, we got a spot in the second crit day. And a good thing, too: everyone who went today got pretty well mauled; some kids in the group are so mean. Even one or two of the English majors; you'd think they, not used to trials-by-fire like the BFAs, could keep civil tongues in their heads. Poor gentle Haley, for whom all three crits this semester were bad (actually, I thought her first one was okay); she feels like a failure, and she's totally not.
Which's why I love my current project partners, too, because they came up with something so constructive to do about all this classmate vitriol. ...Kat and Dustin talked it over before I got to the book-assembling session tonight, went out to Wegmans, and actually bought doughnut holes and juice for the class. They didn't do it as a bribe, but explained to me that they thought crit'd been really rough and unfair today, and that maybe if we made it more pleasant, everyone might learn to lighten up.
Our project came together after about 2349094 catches and screwups and technical difficulties on my end (and one on theirs); we made a book. It's not the most professional-looking thing, but it shall indeed do. Especially if people don't notice the page where we had to mess with the margins, haha.
I seriously do owe them both some homemade cheese bread, and shall get right on that, Wednesday if I can.
Meanwhile, how am I spending my birthday after crit? Hopefully with a nap, and then IV lunch, and then a long stretch of whatever I want. Then dinner across the street (haha, birthday dinner, SUNY-food style!) and some goody-making for folk dancing, since we're having an end-of-semester par-tay, and Rafi's even coming all the way from home for it (and maybe Brian, too, since someone has to drive)! After said par-tay, it's not like we'll be hungry, but I'll probably go to Midnight Breakfast anyway, just to hang out and drink juice and savor the idea that I don't actually have a true final until Thursday (since the one for dance is not at all serious).
Mmph, growing tired. Must hang out for few minutes more, then haul blow dryer to bathroom to dry my hair (yeah, even with 24-hour quiet hours, I probably should not run that here at two in the morning, lest I wake up the poor quiet exchange-student boy next door), then go to bed.
-Laurel