Category: Family

July 25, 2003 /

It’s DONE: I have successfully categorized (frequently up to five times) every single blasted entry in the history of NFD. EVERY SINGLE ONE. Besides going through one month at a time and filing them all, this also included a second sweep through the entire thing to fill an important slot I didn’t think of until I was almost done (landmarks).

With that done, I’m going to my apartment* with Maria to take measurements, then we’re both heading to Richmond so that a) Maria can see my ancestral** home before Mom sells it and b) I can help Mom empty the house of objects so that she can sell it. I’m not actually very worked up about this. I moved out emotionally and mentally at the end of my junior year of high school; that summer I lived at GSP, and the summer after I lived in Brazil, and in between I lived in Erika’s car. Mostly I’m glad Mom found a good family for it. I hope they appreciate the trees.

So yeah, I’ll be home all weekend hawking the remnants of my childhood at The Yard Sale. Expect posts to drop precipitately, but not entirely. I’m pretty sure Mom isn’t selling the phones.

* Did I ever talk about our apartment hunt? Sufficient: It was long, it was hot, nobody in Louisville thinks having two bathrooms is important and we ended up with the first place we looked at. Which is great, but not cheap.

** Not actually “ancestral.” More like “built in 1989.”

July 22, 2003 /

I love my microfiber pants. They make me feel like karate.

In a convincing segue, I googled for kendo+Louisville this morning and found out that my new school has an aikido club, which is really interesting. I was always a little jealous of how good Ian got at aikido while he was in Richmond, and I would have liked to go to classes with my uncle John if I’d had the money and time in Danville. For ten bucks a month in grad school, though, I might just be able to do it. Anybody else want to go along?

June 30, 2003 /

Hey, remember back at SETC when I talked about how amazing my director Michelle was? And remember when I talked about Strother, expert in Matrix dollies and frightening photography? Well guess what! Through a distinct lack of coincidence, Strother from Kentucky and Michelle from Alabama are working together as tech interns at the Shenandoah University Summer Music Theatre. This is not a coincidence because they were at SETC for the same reason, after all, and apparently Shenandoah has excellent taste in interns.

Anyway, I’ve spent the past week bugging Mr. G____ for visual proof that the two of them coexist, and last night he gave in. For your further mental-image referencing, please find pics below! (Strother is the large hairy one, and Michelle is the smaller one with the headset. And Strother is wearing a purple shirt. With the scary eyes. No, on the left.)

Also last night, I finally met Kim’s dogs, and finally saw Chamber of Secrets, and Ian finally came over to hang out for a while. He brought along Yale, so DC was terrified of us, and that was good. I think there should be some gradual way to introduce people to the experience that is Yale, like the way you’re supposed to immunize yourself to electricity or rabid dogs.* Just meeting him straight away, or even going to his web page (which now appears to be gone), tends to cause sensory overload in humans.

So last night I went to bed all peppy, and then woke up this morning and there wasn’t any hot water so I took a cold shower and it stabbed my children in the face, and I hate you.

* Yeah, I think I made that up.

May 25, 2003 /

This is how I graduate: the only Centre commencement in living memory on which it has rained, in alphabetical order yet in the middle of the pack, ending up shivering in the library halfway to the auditorium, which was in neither the sunny nor rainy day plans. Our baccalaureate speaker was a fervent liberal and our keynote speaker a stolid conservative; hackles were raised at each and both. I tried to dry the rain off my glasses and found that polyester robes don’t soak up much.

My apartment has been messily slaughtered, furniture shoved and stolen and hidden mold revealed. One more time I’m the last one to move out. The walls are bare, and most of what I own is in piles on the floor. I’ll never live with Jon or Amanda or David again.

I said goodbye and soon to many, many people, and went to my uncle’s house to see Ken, Jon and Emily one more time and to be astounded by the generosity of my family. I fell asleep sitting up before we came back here. I’m going to pack all night and leave in the morning, which I was explicitly told not to do.

Those of you who know me from my first Governor’s Scholars Program will be gratified to know, I hope, that I brought an umbrella onstage with me at the ceremony. As we were leaving, I ended up facing the wrong way and didn’t notice I was supposed to be moving for several long seconds after the rest of my row had gone. I jumped and cursed onstage (at my own commencement) and scrambled out. I was so flustered I forgot the umbrella.

On my way out to meet my family I stood for a few minutes on the stage in Weisiger. That was the first place I found myself on the first day of GSP, here at Centre; I stood in the dark, having come in out of the rain, and wrote about quiet stages on a chalkboard. Later that night, Milton Reigelman would point it out in his opening convo speech, and I would feel a strange mix of shame and pride at having something I’d written read.

This is how I graduate: I am bone-deep nothing-left weary, and I have miles to go before I sleep. I know my time here is done and I am satisfied with it, and I’m ready and willing and glad to go. I’m hurt and hollow, childish and scared. I want desperately to put off the deep wrench I’m feeling, because it means I’m really leaving home.

April 24, 2003 /

Last night was the least stressful opening night I’ve ever been through, thanks largely to the way the stage is set up, I think. The musicians play behind what’s called a scrim at the back of the stage–a very loosely woven canvas that’s semitransparent straight onbut opaque from an angle. Because it makes the audience look fuzzy, it fosters the illusion that we’re behind some kind of two-way mirror and don’t have to worry about being watched. Even though I know consciously that the audience can see us just as well as we can see them, that still put me at ease enough to play as well as I ever have. This is neat!

It seemed to work pretty well for everyone else, too, and the music really sounded great. More credit for that goes to the writer than to us, but hey, he gets his bow too.

This is the big crunch week, in that I have no more free evenings to work until Sunday, and I’ve been struggling to keep up. I did finally get in an appointment to see my career counselor about a resume critique; we’d been having a little difficulty finding a time because, and I quote, “she’s got a mare due.” Only in Kentucky.

Anyway, she seemed to like my resume and my cover letter (the first one I’ve ever written!), so that felt good. It still bemuses me, though, how little one’s qualifications matter compared to the monumental importance of making them all fit on one page. My counselor’s a nice lady, but I honestly think she knows as much about line spacing and margins as she does about, y’know, jobs.

Another thing I’m behind on: sending out graduation announcements. Eek. I went to the library yesterday to copy pages out of my mother’s address book, which is kind of like a library in itself. There are sheaves of apocryphal driving directions, notes and updates, about five different styles of handwriting, and some entries that take up half a page alone because they’ve been crossed out and corrected so many times. It’s a fascinating object, and I feel like I should get a grant and do an archaeological dig on it.

Too many things on my head. Why is everyone getting sick? Should I bleach my hair again? And how the hell am I supposed to wrap up this entry?

February 17, 2003 /

“Y’know, your journal… you’re gonna be able to look back on it and have this collection of deep thoughts and significant events. I’m gonna be able to look back on mine and see ‘boogers are funny. I’m tired.’

And y’know, I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

–Stephen

That’s pretty accurate, actually, except I don’t think the stuff in here is terribly deep, and I’ve left out some significant events because I didn’t think they were interesting. Sometimes I wish I had more of the comic impulse that makes Stephen’s blog such a great read. Y’know, more booger jokes.

I guess I do significant events, though. Today ten years ago my dad died.

I pretend not to place great importance on round numbers, though this kind of gives that the lie. It’ll really be a more significant number next year, as that’ll be the anniversary that marks half my life without him; I was eleven. Mom’s probably going to be moving out of Richmond this summer, maybe down to our family land in Casey County, maybe not. All three of her children will be in college, a statistically ridiculous idea for a single mother and a teacher that she made happen anyway. 1993 was a very bad year; 2003 is shaping up to be something glorious.

All I have time to write about, lately, is big things and being tired. I want to try and remember the stupid little funny parts. My dad bought me my first Calvin and Hobbes book; he would have appreciated the boogers.

December 24, 2002 /

I wimped out on the Christmas lights this year–I got them on the tree, on the front hedge, and onthe giant mutant tree next to the driveway, but there they stop. Nothing like the usual electricity ‘n’ frustricity extravaganza, which involves between eight and twelve trees, lots of long extension cords and lots of short tempers. I don’t miss the aggravation, even if I do miss the look of the place.

But the lights are up, the oyster stew is downed, the comic is done and it’s only an hour and a half until midnight Mass. Christmas snuck up on me this year; I did all my shopping in two days, but that actually worked out pretty well. I’ve even conditioned myself well enough so that spending as much money as I did, even on other people, made me vaguely sick. Three cheers for my misguided conscience! If all goes well (and by “well” I mean “to grad school“), this time next year I won’t have a penny to my name, so I guess I should enjoy it now.

Audrey made me a quilt. Like a real quilt, and it’s incredibly warm and comfy. For the record, I’m in love.

October 3, 2002 /

Today is my brother Ian’s birthday! Happy birthday, Ian! Ian is no longer a teenager, and if he were predictable he’d probably stop stealing people’s lawn ornaments now. Ian is anything but predictable, though, so he may or may not continue stealing lawn ornaments. He’s a madman!

(I’d link you to his website there, but he currently has a beautifully written and really sweet piece about me on his front page and I’m too embarrassed. Remind me again another time. It’s a neat site, and has dinosaurs and spacemen.)

More ways in which the world is a wonderful place: Ken blew me a new fishbowl! Out of glass! Ken can do anything. The bowl is huge and perfect, and Idaho tends to get lost in it and do backflips. Were I to spontaneously develop gills, I think I’d move in next to him.

ALSO! As you may have noticed from the link above, Ken finally obeyed my command and got himself a LiveJournal or something. Hooray for you, Ken! Now make me a sandwich.

two guns, both arms
feelin’ like Fonzie

September 20, 2002 /

I was wrong, incidentally.

Scent memories still freak me out a little sometimes. I know it’s really because long-term storage is next to the nose’s part of the hypothalamus, or whatever, but in practice it just works out so that even weak smells bring back really vivid scenes.

As it rained all night (during Homecoming! bastard rain!), and as we were dolled up for the occasion, Caitlan and I were sent with the rest of the candidates to wait in the library. As the library was locked, we hung out in the rear lobby of the Industrial Arts building downstairs.

The doors there were locked, too, but on the other side of one of them was the original MCHS CAD lab, the site of the first programming class I ever took. I’d messed around in BASIC since I was a kid, but that room was where I learned about Pascal, and about having a weird knack for it. Six years later I’m about to graduate with a BS in Comp Sci. The room still smells the same.

I wasn’t expecting much of a real homecoming, and in fact I only saw two other people from the class of 1999, one of whom recognized me. Instead I got memories of the game two years ago, when my brother was on court. I watched him and his friends stride around like giants who were still learning to shave. I was so proud and awed I thought my heart would burst. I had a girl on my arm with the biggest smile in the world.

I thought about Erika for the first time in a while tonight, and it was sharper than I thought it’d be. I thought about my brother, and how he’s felt lately. I wish I’d really known how to shave myself, so I could have shown him.

September 20, 2002 /

I’m going home tonight to escort my sister out onto the field at Homecoming. I guess technically I could be there to actually come home too, especially since my own (ill-fated) appearance onthe Court four years ago was the only football game I ever went to. But I’m not real big into that.

I don’t have much else to say. We did a lot of work on the play this week, and it’s going to be good, but right now the payoff is mostly exhaustion. Really I just wanted an excuse to update the cam. There ain’t much better than a reluctant girl wearin’ a plastic mullet! Well, actually there is.