Year in Review in Facebook

Hey thanks Facebook for helping me do this blog. I scrolled for a long time to find all the main events. Anyway, if you're interested, here's my year in review...in Facebook.

A year ago today, I was writing my first exams and they turned out horrendous. Sorry, students :/

I was also planning on going home for Christmas, and Mom and Dad had just moved to Hospers. Elizabeth and Laura and I were bent on seeing Black Swan at any cost. We watched it, of course, and afterward sat open-mouthed at how insane and crazy and pretty great the film was. Laura also suggested another movie, one with vampires. It was a Swedish film, and this young boy becomes this young girl vampire's apprentice and they have a total Edward/Bella, supernatural/mortal relationship. We also sat open-mouthed at that.

I discovered that even though Mom and Dad had moved many times since I'd been away at college and New Mexico and South Dakota, that nothing changes that much. There are still mismatched plates and silverware in the kitchen, and the fridge is still either stocked to the brim/not stocked at all, and the hand towel on the oven never gets changed. Oh, and there is still the same pile of old crocheted blankets laying in a basket beside Dad's recliner. And Mom will still rub your back. (I'm expecting things to still be the exact same this Christmas).

December 21

Connie: Have a safe trip back....excited to see you!

December 23

Me: I'm in Hospers, IA. Yeah. I know. It's the new home for Mom and Dad. Visited Oldenkamps (held Lilly). Finally taking a break from Risk. I'll take over the world tomorrow with a clearer mind. Ready now for Kearsen to have the baby!

Kearsen was very pregnant. Like grasping her ribs pregnant. Like panting from climbing the front steps pregnant. Her nursery was all put together and cute, and now Brinley gnaws on that same crib. "It looks great!" I told her. They were still living in their first house. I'm going to miss having an entire floor to myself. It was also around this time when Elizabeth sent me a link to a blog by a woman who was suffering from post-partum depression and so she dried out her placenta, mixed it with herbs, and encapsuled them. Nasty. Gross. Gross. Gross. I never even want to let something like a placenta cross my path. Kearsen, I learned too much.

December 27

Me: ...is teething

It turns out, after literally tens of years of watching friends get their wisdom teeth plucked, my very immature set did have a couple! Saweet! And they didn't even require surgery. The dentist just spooned them out.

January 1

Me: Praising God for Brinley Joy. (6lbs 3oz, Dec 31, 2010)

And she was born 2 days after I left, but when Josh called to tell the news I cried. Yep. And now she's just perfect.

January 3

Brand new day. God is good

January 6

One chocolate caramel mocha and I'm sweeping through three lesson plans: bam, bam, bam. My foot is tapping the entire time. Two hours later, two lesson plans to go, and I've crashed and burned. I'll be here all night, folks.

January 7

Tera Pfortmiller: Laurissa Boman + Wendy's Frosty's + a straw = one crazy drive back to D-town!

This is where I really got to know Tera. Refer back to "Frostys"

January 22

Beth Van Dam, Dunkin' Donuts with you anytime; beer and wings next time.

This year Beth moved away, and I was so sad to see her go. She's been an excellent friend through the years. This day I brought a humongous stack of papers to Chicago, and Beth helped me grade them. Rough times suck, but she's good at making them better.

January 27

This night of work will never end

The next morning I was in our staff meeting, and our principal Clarence says, "So. Rough night?" "No," I said, then changed my mind while I looked around, "Who told you?" He pointed to Andrew, the history teacher. "You wrote it on Facebook," said Andrew. "It's public news."

January 31

Leah DeJager: Hey Laurissa! Are we meeting at Heidi's tonight or Tera's? Yesterday is kind of a blur, all the sugar and whatnot.

That's Leah. She's my really cool friend. And she reads books and is really funny, even though she has kids. (Kidding, all you who have kids...I only sort of meant that.) She also says things like "You look like Emma Stone" and "You should be on SNL with Tina Fey" so naturally we're friends. This particular note is regarding girls' night, which involves about 7 women who talk about and watch trash reality television. Can you believe it, Beth? There are more people like us in the world. I also go to mooch food off of Andrew and Heidi and to listen to our newest addition Kim talk. She has kids and she is hilarious.

January 31

Snowstorm in Montana: eat some toast, out the door by 8:00, unplug the car

Snowstorm in Indiana: Y2k

Yeah, Indiana got this massive blizzard last year and I stayed at Tera's. We watched Wicked, and I ate all the food in her pantry that would never have been in my home growing up (ie. goldfish). We also shoveled a lady's driveway, though a guy was going to come anyway. So much for being a good Samaritan.

February 13

‎5 days until I see Brinley (and Kearsen and Josh and all my other family), but Brinley!!!!!

Yeah, she was only 5 weeks old and couldn't do a thing, and her diapers were nasty, but then she smiled.

February 17

James Lewandowski: Dr. J. Boman, Phd, MBA, BS, AS...Purdue University.

James made a guest appearance in my English 9 classroom as a "sub" for the day. I'd been asked many times about whether I was dating someone or not, so we thought we'd stage a very ambiguous encounter in front of the kids. He gave them a journal assignment, I came in, they were on to him, he'd written all sorts of stuff on the whiteboard, and we awkwardly semi-hugged just before he left. The rest of the class period was chaos. Thanks, Dr. Boman. (We even gave him the last name Boman; students concluded that he was my brother).

February 23

Students, thanks to you, God is force-feeding me wisdom. Good thing my gag reflexes aren't terrible.

This was one of those times that teaching wasn't fun and I wanted to talk about it on Facebook.

March 10

I consider 28 freshmen papers, 56 test essays, 27 presentations, about 70 composition papers and 34 blogs, 15 make-up papers, and normal run-of-the mill assignments a huge feat to grade. All within 6 days' work. But I hear this all the time: "Don't assign so much." I can't not. Double-negative words intended.

Whew.

March 11

I showed a trial scene from A Time to Kill today to correlate with Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. The moment the screen flashed to Matthew McCaunaghay, delighted girls squealed...yes, squealed...for about 3 minutes. "I love him more than Justin Bieber!" one of them yelled.

March 17

Florida...

It's about dang time.

Jim and Cherie let me hang out with their beautiful family in sunny Florida over Spring Break. Beth was there, too, which made it doubly fun. I texted Ryan the whole time and thoroughly explained how awesome everything was. He also explained that one night the moon appeared to be 14% larger than normal. And Beth said, "Laurissa, you better date him." :) But yes, Florida made me very discontent in real life.

April 7

‎2 months, 1 week: Mumford & Sons. It was not your fault, but mine that I will not have seen you live until then

Oh yeah, this whole year and then some, I've been addicted to Mumford and Sons and have successfully tried to get all my friends and family to like them, too. Most of them do now.

April 11

I got asked to prom today

April 22

‎9 million 986 thousand minutes...*tear

Michael's last episode on The Office. I officially switched to Parks & Rec after that.

April 28

My geek fascination with graphic novels is now officially impacting students. Three GNs are checked out from my book shelf right now, and two of the students fore-went 10 minutes of homework time to embrace their inner geek

May 23

"Seeya, Missus Boman!"

"I already said goodbye to you...and it's 'Miss'." [shakes head]

One year down and I'm already the crabby teacher with beads around her glasses.

Wow, I wrote about school a lot.

May 28

I like this day

May 31

Goodbye, chicken nuggets.

June 6

Concert tonight with Beth Van Dam and Jake Reardanz. Got my city dress on.

See all you Iowa and South Dakota people soon! Later D-town.

Thus began my summer-long vacation. It. Was. Awesome.

June 27

I want Peachwave, badly.

I visited fam, and Brinley was much more exciting at 6 months. And her diapers were a little more bearable. Also, I had good times with Elizabeth and Laura. Can't explain everything...because this blog is getting long, and I don't know why you're still reading...but this time in life had me skipping. Also, what the heck is b0ba? I mean, where does it come from? Kearsen and I had a deep philosophical conversation about it. And how can the Peachwave people fill it with fruity goodness?

July 7

That's it. I'm going to turn back time so they can make a second season of My So Called Life. Whatever.

Annnd, I spent 2 days straight watching "My So-Called Life" on YouTube. What? I had a little extra time. I get caught up in TV sometimes. Stop looking at me like that!

July 12

Won't you meet me in Montana?
I want to see the mountains in your eyes.
I've had all this life I can handle.
Meet me underneath that big Montana sky

July 15

Five people brushing their teeth in the bathroom. One on the toilet. One in the shower. Everybody's talking at once. This is the epitome of Southview.

Went out west for Dani's wedding (So. Much. Fun.) and traveled on to Montana.

July 20

Hotel in Yellowstone: $170
Tent at Bridge Bay campground: $11
I don't think Grandma's getting any older since she took me white water rafting. Folks, my grandma's taking me tenting.

July 23

Jessie Bos: Hey Loser! Thanks for taggin me in all those pics. Your pics definitely turned out better than mine and you are a way better photographer! I loved hiking with you yesterday and I am so excited for you to come up next week to visit! I loved it that we talked so much on the way up but we had such comfortable "tired" silence on the way down. Just wonderful good fellowship :) Thanks also for returning... my "leggings". I stopped by your grandma's and she thought they were in the wash! Haha! Anyway I got them back. I also loved my birthday cards from the last two years and I wish you a very very happy birthday today! I love how long we have been friends and know that we will continue to be. Whew! I should have just made this a message sorry. :) Love ya dear!

Me: It was a lovely day, everybody. Thanks! (special shout out to Tammy Droge and Tina Miller for feeding me with food and fun galore)

August 5

Marc Chickenvillage: So you're back in your hometown, right? We're in Los Angeles now. Don't forget to give us a call when you coming overseas! cheers

That's from the German friend Grandma and I made in Yellowstone. He said, "Genevieve, do you have a facebook?" "Yes," she said, "but I don't use the dumb thing."

August 15

Some days when the sun shines too brightly through my large eastern facing window, I want to "punch the sun in the throat," but others, like today, when it wakes me up at just the right time, I want to give it a high five. Way to go, sun. You're beautiful today

September 5

Laurissa Boman is in a relationship with Ryan Wynkoop.

:)

September 21

Hmmmm, recounting the events of the day--yes, a freshman boy DID do the splits at the end of class, then rolled back, curled into a ball and screamed. It happened. [shaking head]

October 2

Is coffee meant to be chugged? Because that's what just happened. It is going to be a beautiful day, everyone.

October 29

I bought thick red tights today, wore them, and had crazy flashbacks.

I would never do this if it weren't for Halloween. I don't think. It was fun this year. We went to Andrew and Heidi's again, because they have the best crib of any of us, and so we carved pumpkins.

November 19

The presentation went well. I mean, I didn't trip or faint or anything, so good news!

I presented at NCTE with Leah Zuidema, whom I adore.

November 21

Who goes to a Broadway play alone? Um.

November 23

Destination: Sioux Falls.

Went to South Dakota for Thanksgiving. Brinley can "talk" on the phone at this point.

December 15

"We can win if we work really hard, get no sleep, and shirk all of our responsibilities until then." ~Leslie Knope

Seriously, I love Parks & Rec

December 19 (today)

Exam week. I told the students this exam will most likely end them, so they have to study really really hard. (It obviously won't be that bad, but shhhhhhhh).

Muahahahahaha.

And that's my year in review in Facebook. You're welcome. Now take a coffee break, because this was a long blog. It took forever to copy/paste, too. Sheesh.

Oh, and Merry Christmas!

Awkward Comes in Sets of 3

It started when I moved in with Kearsen and Josh one summer. It continued to Jim and Cherie a couple years later. And then it found Tera and James.

I'm talking about my shameless ability to be the third wheel.

This is Tera and James.

And me.

I'm dressed up as Waldo here.

This picture was taken on Halloween because we decided to dress up, the three of us.

I didn't realize that they were taking a couple picture over there.

I'm sure everybody has these moments, but for me they never stop. Here's a little story to help you understand the 3rd dimension, in case you're socially perfect and have never been in a situation like that.

This is me, Laurissa, (the very tall king in a Snuggie)

and sometimes I go to parties

and dress up as food.

My friends are really nice.

Most of them are 2/3 my size

and have a shorter fall, but

they can be awkward, too.

Sometimes everybody else gets it but me.

And that's what I've discovered about threes.

I Eat Food

It's startling how much inspiration there is for me to write this blog. Because I love food. Dearly. And in the dog world, I'd be the chunkier one who eats what the little dogs leave in their bowls. In the grade school kids at school world, I'm the one who wants Swiss rolls every day.

I can't even begin to recount where this affair with food began, so I'm going to just begin with the present moment and then flash back if you will. It's 8:55 pm right now and I just began sipping on a chocolate chip milkshake from Dairy Queen. Thanksgiving was three days ago and I followed suit with the rest of America and ate a bunch and went back for seconds (and thirds--is that too much to confess?). I had to travel 10 hours each way to and from South Dakota, so it required a hefty amount of sit time, which I'm good at, and it required that for lunch I'd stop at McDonalds and buy chicken nuggets (but that's a story to come). Anyway, it was just last weekend that I was in Chicago for a conference and so I ate out every meal there, too. The rooms don't have refrigerators.

Nevertheless, after 8ish days of a fast food and turkey marathon, I'm curled up on my couch drinking (eating?) this dreadfully amazing cherry-on-top milkshake and I've got a volleyball game in less than 24 hours.

This particular milkshake was introduced by a friend from high school who was also a Dairy Queen worker. She ordered it for me once, and I've never thought more highly of another ice cream variation since. It was love at first sight.

So tonight the adorable DQ girl (how is she not 300 lbs?) handed me the milkshake through the window. Immediately I scooped the cherry out with my straw and went in for a lickful of whipped cream. When I turned to roll up my window, she was still watching me. It must have looked like something to the equivalent of a hoarder in a thriftshop.

If this be an all out confessional, I'd like to say this about the realm of fast food: My name is Laurissa and I am also a McDonald's chicken nugget addict.

Chicken nuggets were always the food I wouldn't take a second look at. Why go for childish nuggets (with nothing on them!) when you could have a double McGrande cheeseburger? Besides, all the moms were tearing up tiny bitier sizes for their kids. Even as a kid, if I had to eat nuggets I expected a stinking good toy.

But then I met Tera. Tera likes Disney Channel and the Jonas Brothers (though she's talked about them significantly less since I've met her and since she's dated James [nice work James]). Tera also likes chicken nuggets. So when we went to McDonalds, she'd always get them. One day I averted my affections from my burger and said, "Can I have one?" (Big mistake.) "Sure," said Tera. And then I ate a bite and savored it. Then I ate another one. Then it escalated into a twice a week occurrence. I knew it was getting bad when I told the history teacher down the hall, "I love chicken nuggets." He replied, "That's a healthy snack" obviously in a sarcastic way, and I really sincerely thought, "Yeah! It is."

I spent the month of June nugget fasting.

That was a dark time.

But it's been getting there again. Another friend just introduced me to spicy mustard and it. is. delicious. dangit. guhhhhh.

Of course, neither the milkshake nor the nuggets can compare to the number one savory piece of food in history--bacon. It's come to a point where I can just look at a pig and say, "mmmmm" unconsciously because I know there's bacon in there somewhere.

Where did this come from? This love (and devotion and emotion) for food, but namely bacon? The only way I know to explain it is that Grandpa was a pig farmer and ate a lot of pig and so did his ten kids from Iowa. A lot of bacon and a lot of corn on the cob, but certainly bacon. Bacon is what rolls down the fronts of our shirts at Nieuwsma reunions. It's what my sister wrapped the Thanksgiving turkey in. It's what you can wrap most things in. It's what you go camping with. It's what makes a burger better. It's something Lady Gaga would consider an accessory. It's. so. good.

I saw chocolate covered bacon at a store the other day, and I don't think I'm above trying it. Just once. But then that's what I said about nuggets.

How can something seem so wrong and so right at the same time? How is eating food a lot like participating in life?

Like this DQ milkshake. I left it alone for three minutes and already it's turning on me, melting and stuff. Lesson learned. Don't neglect stuff and whatever. Thanks, food.

National Council of Teachers of English

I think there are too many prepositional phrases in that short title to be part of an English teachers' conference.
But that's forgiveable, because I saw Penny Kittle today. She is the author of Write beside Them, the single most important book besides The Bible and Elna Baker's memoir that I've ever read. It's my professional keepsake, and I flip through it daily. Once I stalked her on Facebook to see if she was existent and real and actually within the grasp of communication. And she was. I messaged her and said something to the effect of, "Are you...THE Penny Kittle? If so, I admire what you do, and I read your book often. Are you going to NCTE?" This was two years ago. She responded back, "So glad you enjoyed it! I'll be in Orlando."
And I'm pretty sure I was starstruck with that moment. To see her in real life would have topped the cake.
This morning I saw her from across the room. She was a few rows up, and all I could think was to say, "Hey, I've read your book. Loved it!" But I was too intimidated by her presence and she seemed to be headed out to another session, so I just cowered and admired her presence.
I think she's my profesisonal crush.
Yep.

Oh, 1 hour and 10 minutes until I present! Whoa. So maybe I wouldn't mind if my life path resembled hers.

Tragic Flaw

Today I told my students to go home, think about what their tragic flaw is, and then come back tomorrow ready to journal about it. We're reading "The Odyssey.
Here's what I'm reading to the students tomorrow:

Tragic flaw: a characteristic that can lead to our demise/downfall.
It can be argued that Odysseus’s tragic flaw is distraction. He sees something shiny (or beautiful, like Calypso) or something that helps him forget the difficulty of the journey (like the lotus) and pursues them. I think we’re all a little like that. We set out to do a chore, then find a bouncy ball on the way, or we diverge along another path altogether. While grading a stack of tests or raking a football sized yard, I would jump at the chance to bump a volleyball or go exploring somewhere.

My tragic flaw is similar to Odysseus’s flaw. Simply put, my mind moves more quickly than words can come out of my mouth or than my fingers can write, and so I jumped ahead or aside of the conversation.
You ask, “Have you seen Mary?”
I saw her earlier that morning and then again in the afternoon, between classes, by the kitchen, in the lobby, and just outside the office and am wondering which you’d like me to answer. Meanwhile, I’m thinking about de Jager’s strut as he walks past and how he nods like an Italian mobster and says, “How you doin’” and I’m thinking about how Justin Bieber is ruining the minds of our youth and how he should find another word than “baby” to use in his lyrics, and I’m thinking about how funny it is that we’re a Christian school and have pews lining the hallways and how once my friend Beth came to visit and said, “Wow, you guys have pews as benches,” but alas I say, “Yyyyyes.”
You say, “Um, ok.”
All this happens in a matter of seconds.

This tragic flaw gets me in trouble when I meet new people because I have to pay attention to what they say their name is while I’m intermittently interested in their background, if they have a polygamist Mormon great great-grandfather like I do, or if they’re a little more normal than that, and I’m interested in the five other conversations around us. I just can’t help it.
My flaw makes me seem arrogant, uncaring, flighty, and scattered, but all I desire is more time to think and to know people by the way they act, and I desire to know who they are based on their background. And like Ramona Quimby, I’ve always been a person whose curiosity gets in the way and who is often misunderstood. Mostly, I desire for the stutters and “ums” and “oks” that burst out of my mouth to reflect the fluency of the thoughts inside my head.

So, what's your tragic flaw?

Google History

I clear my Google history. Often. Because what if someone where to say, "Hey, can I use your computer a minute?" They begin googling something and find out, based on my Google history, that I've been searching "mormon polygamy" and "Elna Baker" and "Joseph Smith". That person might never say anything, or they might ask me, "Are you converting?"
I'm not converting, but I have an intense fascination with those topics. Kearsen and I have been somewhat secretly obsessed with them for a while. We grew up going to Mormon family get togethers, but having little idea of the differences.
Google history tells a lot about a person, so I decided to look up mine and write it down. You can infer the reasons for the searching. Happy assuming!

Pizza
Liz lee info
Bozeman Montana named the most
Velma costume
Where’s waldo costume
Iowa student loan
Make you feel my love lyrics
The scarlet letter
The perks of being a wallflower
How to draw
Pinterest
I am fannie
You are the only one who long lyrics
Phoenix 1901
Elizabeth olsen
Stranger than
Bruno mars lighters
The adventures of pete and pete theme song*

*I like this one the most

Now and Later

Did you ever eat those? Basically they mean that you put one in your mouth, and it's a long time later when you're finished with it.
Did you ever consider what they imply? Commitment. That's right. You open one of them now and a long time later you're still occupied by the same thing.

But sometimes that's not so bad.

I've been living in the same place now for 1 year and 3 months, which is the longest time I've lived anywhere beyond high school.

So I'm still sucking on the same Now and Later. Yay.

"Special friend"

It is true that I enjoy talking to and talking about Grandma. Talking to, because we get in a whirlwind of topics. Talking about, because I need debriefing time. I've been calling Grandma once every week or two since high school ended to check up on her, so she can check up on me, so she can tell me the latest news of Montana, which always ends up in some kind of summative statement: "These dadberned home inspectors really don't know what they're doing!" "Lissy, I'll put up my own Christmas lights until I die. I've done it all this time anyway." "Oh! It's getting too stuffy around here. Think I'll head into the park (Yellowstone) for a little while."
Everything she says is either a glorious tribute to life or a cursing of it. Rarely is there an inbetween.
But she's said a lot of things through the years, some things embarrassing, some truthful, some convicting, some funny, but always, ALWAYS, she speaks with tone. What I mean by tone is that when she's excited, she brings out her "r"s. "That's grrrrrreat, Lissy!" When she's upset, her voice quiets, and there's this inner squeaky sob which thrusts her words out. "I just don't know what to do." And when she wants to hint at something or be sneaky, she speaks with elipses: "Well....I guess what I mean to say is....."
I find some conversations embarrassing.
In front of my middle school friends: "Hunny, put your thongs on. It's warm out there."
In front of family: "I've folded your panties. They're sitting on the dryer."
Why can't she just say "flip-flops" or "clothes"? (!?!?!)
She did it again last night, and this has been going on for a bit of time.
"How's your special man friend?"
"My what?"
"Your special friend. Is he working....did you two hang out last night...?"
"Just call him my boyfriend." I said this because the term "special friend" or worse, "special man friend" seems a lot like "panties" or "thongs". It's just odd.
"Boyfriend!"
"Well that's what he is."
"Oh boy, all the angels and Grandma Ham are singing in heaven right now!"
"Grandma, we've been dating for a couple months. This isn't new news."
"You tell your special friend--"
"Boyfriend."
"--that he has to come meet us sometime."

Birds and Kids

So, last night I drove north 45 minutes to the tip of Lake Michigan. It was like a date for me from me, because Ryan, although he was entertaining via text, had some FFA/4H thing to coordinate down in Indy. I can never keep the events straight.
I stopped at Jimmy Johns, got the #12, drove the remainder of the way to the beach, and began snapping pictures immediately. There's nothing more oxy-moronic about seeing a full-fledged beach next to the colorful array of trees in Fall. It's like mixing tropical with seasonal, and it doesn't work...except that it does.
Yeah yeah, I get it. THIS is why all the Michiganders at Dordt kept gloating (right word?) ...praising, rather... the landscape around here. Because it truly is beautiful.
Moms and dads walked along the shoreline each grabbing the hand of a child. The sun had begun to set and so I walked a ways away from the crowd. They would become silhouettes in the pictures I was about to take. That's legal, right?
Seagulls, one in particular, had begun surrounding me and my Jimmy Johns #12. They are demanding. The birds I mean. The one kept one eye on me at all times, and so I had no other choice. I had to watch it back. It wanted my sandwich. I wanted it dead, but I'm not sure that's legal either.
I began taking pictures of the moon just over a sand dune and then pointed my lens to the crowd with their umbrellas and kites, but was distracted by another squak from the bird.
I waved my shoe at it.
It ran about ten yards away and then came back about fifteen.
"This isn't yours!" I wanted to say, but it was a bird, so talking would be of no help. And anyway, I don't think they understand English. (right Heidi?) Talking to it would be crazy, I thought as I duly noted a couple sitting on a sand dune a ways out. They were watching the scene.
I waved my shoe at it again. It ruffled its feathers.
Who did this bird think it was? I'm a human and could definitely...possibly...overtake this bird. Didn't it think it was in danger? Was it too comfortable with humans? Had it flown over from Chicago for a weekend getaway to manipulate naive strangers from the country?
Anyway, I didn't give in or toss it a piece becaust that would have made it beg for more. You give 'em and inch, they take a knell, right? Instead I waited for it to get over itself and eventually look elsewhere for food. There was a whole state-sized lake full of fish, so I didn't feel bad.
The date from me for me continued, but only for a little bit. A kid had stopped to stare at me reading One Day, but he only watched for a little bit until his mother grabbed his hand and said, "Stay close!" Later on I went to Target in search of cardigans and another little girl was staring at me through two racks. Her mother--a lady with bleached blond hair, too much makeup, and long manicured fingernails--was flippantly filing through piles and responding to her daughter in "umm hmmm"s and "yep"s. The little girl kept twirling, then stopping to stick her tongue out and stare at it with croseed eyes, then squealing for another reaction for her mother.
I moved across the store.
Maybe there's no real meaning to the evening. Maybe it's that birds and children are quite similar. I'm not afraid to wave my shoes at either creature, or believe that my space and plans in life can be infringed upon by both.
There we go. I've discovered it now.

For Mom

I love you.

Those were the years of encouragement, when Mom pushed a lock of hair behind my ears and said, "You are beautiful. I love you."

She was forever kind, like moms shoudl be. Somehow she knew it was not her duty to perfect me, that perfection would take God's grace and time, and that even then, it would never occur. If it had she would have pushed my hair behind my ears in precisely...perfectly...the same way and said, "I love you" all the same.

I wonder for the people who have never had that incessant over and over again mom bugging squeezing tapping, but never nagging "I love you," said so much that a child never has to think otherwise.

I've had that.

And now seeing Mom's oldest child raise a child--kisses kissses kisses, "she's cute, right? or is it just me? hugging nursing playing--I think mothering must be a love that doesn't take away. It only snowballs.

Maybe that's what love ought to be for everyone, something that grows because it doesn't assume, but it does take action and it spreads to more people than just one and moves through every tendril of every hair of every person who has been told "I love you."

Later Gaters

I'm leaving the blogging world for a little while.

Prayers that you're all well.

Laurissa

Careless

A while back I'd taken my car into the auto shop to get an oil change and Mr. Zylstra said my break pads needed to be replaced and said the wheel bearing wasn't looking good either. I asked if it was expensive. It's pricey, he said. My car's not worth that much, I thought. So I went on throughout the year and throughout this summer listening to the clicking of my wheels but not really worrying about it. Zylstra said that if I heard the whirling sound all the time, then it'd be trouble. So I said, fine I'll listen and see.

I took two lengthy vacations this summer. One to South Dakota, another to Montana, stopping in Iowa on the way out for a wedding. I had so much fun with friends and seeing family and Brinley.
And when I got to Montana, I saw church folks and old friends. And they gave hugs galore.

Grandma traveled with me back to Hospers to see my parents and to drive her sister back to Montana. We'd been traveling for fourteen hours and finally slowing down into town when she heard loud clicking. She asked what it was. I said it was my problem and I'd fix it when I got back.

No, Grandma demanded. You're fixing it now.

I said I'd heard the clicking before and that it wasn't something to worry about. But both Grandma and Dad then demanded in a more stubborn way that I needed to get it checked.

I took the car in to a shop in Hospers early Saturday morning and asked them to look at it. They called and said it'd be closer to $700 to fix everything.

We wouldn't have let you leave, the mechanic said. I could take the one tire and tilt it from side to side. You had 11 more hours to drive, that right? Ma'am, if you hadn't taken it in and if you'd been driving down the interstate, who knows...

And Grandma said it, but tried not to say it too loudly because of her prideful granddaughter--we
could have had a funeral. All for a stupid wheel bearing. All because I'm a little stubborn and can figure it out for myself.

I know a reference to Bridesmaides doesn't seem all that appropriate right now, but there's no other way to explain it best. The main character lives her life on her own terms, goes and comes whenever, has best friends, a mother, a new cop boyfriend who she runs away from. She makes mistake after mistake and knows she can simply say a "sorry" as an afterthought and the people who love her will forgive her, but not without their worries. One day, the cop boyfriend guy says, "You think you can do anything and that you'll only hurt yourself. Well you're wrong. You've been hurting other people all this time. "

Anyway, I've been marching this solo routine--one that I've been proud of--for awhile. I can do it. I can take care of myself. I proclaim it over and over. I don't need to talk about it. I can figure it out. Thank you very much.

So I waited for the mechanics to check my car, to get it fixed. Aunt Linda asked if we'd like to come over and shuck corn. I'd have to be on the road a little later in the afternoon.

But there was Grandma that whole morning as we were shucking corn with my aunt and uncle in Iowa. They had just lost their son to a hiking accident last summer, and Grandma was looking at me with pain in her eyes, and she didn't have to say it. I knew.

"Promise Grandma you'll give me a call like you do every weekend," she said when I later said goodbye.

"Yeah, ok," I smiled, trying to brush away how serious everyone had become that whole morning.

And now I know, careless isn't worth the pain you cause other people.

The Bozeman Style

It's good to be back. I bought this little pin at the Leaf and Bean that has the frame of the state of Montana and a little blue heart at its center. I'd pin it on my shirt, but that's a gainst a social faux pas and it'd make me look like a tourist. I almost feel like a tourist, snapping pictures of the mountains and planning a short trip into Yellowstone.
"You're back!" Tammy texted.
She's been working like a madwoman here and baby-sitting and hanging out with her married couples. It works for her. "I'm taking you to the fair."
"Sounds great to me."

Grandma basically ran into my arms. Or maybe I ran into hers. I'm not sure. We gushed about the road trip and how the headwaters of the Missouri are literally gushing right now. "Yeah, did you see the flooding in Omaha? The water level is six feet higher than normal."
"That's really too bad for them," she said. "Now, the guest room is completely ready for you, and there's food in the fridge, so help yourself." She hugged me again. "I'm so glad you're here! It's been a lonely place around here."
Grandma has been keeping up with her tax business, gardening, and reading. But she maintains that it's quite lonely. I don't blame her, really. It's a big house to keep if you're there alone.

"I'm going out to dinner with Jess Wednesday."
"Ok." I texted Tammy back. "Wait....Jess as in Jessie?!"
"Yeah, Jessie, you goof. She's back from camp for a little while."
"Whoa! I'm going to crash your dinner date."
Tonight we'll be going to The Garden Cafe, maybe shoot some hoops afterwards. That's our trend. We always got together on summer nights, played Pig, and we ate at the Garden. Jessie is now working up at Big Sky Bible camps, peer mentoring other counselors, writing Bible studies, and hiking.

We drove along the old highway from Belgrade to Bozeman. This oddly comfortable silence that we just have. Tina was in the passenger seat and we were going to a coffee shop in Bozeman. She'd moved back about a year ago after living in Idaho and Portland for 6 or 7 years. We go back as far as I can remember, preschool or before that even, and so I can't really ever let her go. She has about 4 or 5 tattoos now and works at WalMart. We're so incredibly different in almost every way possible. I can't help but just love her. We walked around for a little bit downtown, she told me of all the businesses that went under and others that opened up. Bozeman can't keep a small business for the life of it.

Anyway, I found a little Greek cafe today and ordered something I couldn't pronounce, but it came with pita bread. I saw the cook slap a hemisphere of meat on the grill. Oh no, did I order brain? I didn't, but I thought that if I had, I'd eat my money's worth. Speaking of which (being Dutch, that is), it's about time to head back to Churchill.

He Was Nice...Enough

I have a history with cops.

It started out innocently. The summer between my Sophomore and Junior years of high school, I spent every day and evening with Tammy, and we never wore regular clothes, just swimming suits, tank tops, and pajama pants around the tiny town of Manhattan, Montana. This is a town where kids still ride their bikes to a bubble fountain and where semi-retired farmers order their usual at The Garden Cafe. Tammy and I walked around all over in our pajama pants that summer, stopped at various town-people's homes, let ourselves in, let them offer us a glass of water or sit to roast marshmallows. We'd do whatever until we saw the cop's red and blue lights flashing through town.
"Let's check it out," Tammy would say, and so began a long-lasting relationship with the town cops.

Dave Rewitz was the first one I knew. Dad used to talk about him all the time. "Ho, I remember when ol' Rewitz busted so-and-so for..." and he'd chuckle to himself. Rewitz also did our school's DARE program, and I studied his moustache over and over, wondering why it is that almost all cops have that same moustache. That day I was wearing a T-shirt with a gun pointing at whoever read it that said "Give me all your chocolate and nobody gets hurt." Rewitz also caught my older brother stealing gum from the grocery store, banning the kid from ever entering there again. Incidentally, the same thing happened to my little brother 10 or so years later. I've never stolen anything from that store. I once stole a stuffed panda mock Beanie Baby in Yellowstone, but immediately gave it away to a friend for a birthday present, as if that would make it better. I probably should have been caught when my middle school friends and I realized during an all nighter that Renee's family's accounting firm shared an unlocked door with The Garden Cafe. We crawled in, each grabbed a glass, drank fountain pop until our bellies were full (never mind the cases of soda stored in the back of the accounting office...this was waaaaay cooler) and we ate Andes mints until the jar looked like it had been completely robbed, which it had. I figure I owe them about $7.50 and some dignity back.
Rewitz was the main cop in Manhattan for my growing up years and was close to retirement by the time I was in high school.
I did talk to him once. It was seventh grade and Renee and I thought it would be fun to egg something and to spray paint something. So we did, and I'm not going into details, but the night led us to a moment where I still had four eggs in my pocket, Renee had stuffed the spray paint cans in hers, and Rewitz saw us rounding a corner. "Quick!" Renee called out. "Destroy all evidence!" So I one-by-one threw the eggs in various directions, accidentally hitting a mailbox, a truck, and two lay on a gravel street. Renee shoved the spray cans in a creek tunnel that ran through town.
"Hey there ladies." Rewitz had rolled down his window. It was 1am and we had broken the Dellinger's front screen window when we broke out. "Hey Rewitz," we said in nervous unison. My legs shook under my pajama pants.
"Do you girls realize it's one A.M?"
"Wow, is it really that late? Man! Time flies fast. We'd better get home. Elna kept us talking so long. We only wanted to weed her garden for a little extra cash, she invited us in, so we sat and talked and talked and talked, and you think elderly women would want to be in bed by, I don't know, 7, but not her. She's a talker."
"Elna who?"
Our lie caught us off guard, but I stepped in, "We're only on a first name basis, sir."
"Ok, well I'll wait for you two to get a move on. Get back to bed."
"Yes sir."

"Anyway," Tammy said as we neared flashing lights one night. "His name is Jeff. I've heard people say a lot of different stuff about him, but I think he's an ok guy." We were talking about the new cop in town. His hair was blond and so he had a blond mustache, perfectly trimmed. The car in front of him had just pulled off, and he was writing something up.
"Hey Jeff."
"Well hey there, Tammy! Who's your friend?"
"This is Lou. Lou this is Jeff."
He scratched his mustache. "Your name is Lou?"
I dug my foot in the dirt. "It's a nickname. Middle name's Luanne."
"Oh yeah, I see." He scribbled a couple more notes, closed his folder, and said, "So what's the deal with the pajama pants?" Tammy and I both looked down. Mine were cuffed.
"They're comfortable," I said "and it's summer."
"So who was that?" Tammy was referring to the car that just left. She always had to know, always asked questions.
"Some out-of-towner who wasn't slowing down. I was just sitting here in the clear for the whole time." Ol' Rewitz used to hide his car behind large plywood stacks along a gravel area by the old highway and wait to bust someone. Jeff stopped his car clearly where people could see it, which I found dignified. We sat there with this new cop watching the radar as cars drove past.
"Oh man! that guy's going 32! Why don't you get him?"
"Meh."
Small town justice system.

Anyway, it was like that all summer with Jeff. Same talk. Who'd you pullover, how fast were they going, any drug busts, can we ride in back and could you cuff us and could you call our parents and say we were in deep trouble, etc. He'd say no most of the time and then throw in some comment about Tammy's nosiness or about my name or cuffed pajama pants.
We knew exactly where he lived, when he was on duty, the fact that he was for goodness sake living with a woman, and as far as we knew not going to church.
And then one day the tables were turned.

It was a Wednesday night, about 9 or so, and youth group had just finished. I was ready to go home, so I left. In order to get to home, I had to go through two stop signs. One of those was a four-way. There was no one else on the road. After the four-way stop I'd be home half a second later. But suddenly I saw red and blue lights behind me. I had learned not to unbuckle my seatbelt from the previous time I'd been pulled over after school by Ol' Rewitz. That was the first time. Apparently my stickers were on my front license plates, not the back. "I had to use the sirens, too, Miss," Ol' Rewitz said. "How loud are you listening to your music?" I had also shut off my radio, adjusted my mirrors, picked up trash, and moved my seat back a little. After looking me down with the help of his dark, dark mustache, he said, "Just have your dad change those plates around. And next time, don't undo your seatbelt. That looks bad. Have your driver's license ready. Have your registration ready. Have your insurance ready. And crimeniddly, you don't have to shake so much."
So this time, with a quizzical look, because I had done nothing wrong, I rolled down my window, got out the essentials and said, "Officer." It was Jeff. He pretended he didn't know me.
"Can you tell me what you did back there?"
"No idea, Jeff." He gave me a look. "Sir," I corrected myself.
"You were going a little fast through that intersection."
"I stopped, Sir."
"Did you?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Alright, take things slowly. Drive carefully, ma'am." Ma'am?
I had never been pulled over by Jeff after that. The next time Tammy and I were out for a walk, he pretended it never happened, like he was trained by the FBI or CIA, whatever, to make people re-think their own sanity. "Nice pants," he continued to say. "My mom wants to know when you're getting married," I'd say. "You've got all the churches in a 15 mile radius wondering."

Not too long after that summer, we got another cop in town. And she was a she. A female. Ready to bust down our raging male criminals. And all the farmers at The Garden Cafe shook their heads, "I mean, it's the same as combat. Can a woman carry a wounded soldier out of the battle zone?" They, and others, listed all the men she definitely couldn't handle. "She has a gun," I told Tammy one day, "and a whacking stick. Somebody's little sister could handle all those beer-drinking men with a gun and a whacking stick."
Jeff was out on duty one Christmas break. Tammy and I had heavy coats and pajama pants on. "What's her name?"
He lit a cigarette. "Angie," and he puffed lightly so it flickered orange a few times before he exhaled.
"Sounds tough," Tammy laughed.
And right then and there, Jeff started cussing, yelling about how this whole effin town is sexist, how she could take down all the crazies with a three dollar pistol, and he didn't ever, ever, want to hear it from us.
"Yes, Sir."

Tammy and I met Angie one night Senior year when our other friend Jessie and us decided we wanted to go star gazing at Taylor Park, because really, what else is there to do in a small town? Nothing. Except stargazing and when you're old enough, go drinking and karaoking at all the same places your parents go (which is so so so so likely to happen in Manhattan. I once went to the Sports Depot with some really cool kids and friends after a basketball game. It was karaoke night and Tammy leaned over and said, "Hey Lou isn't that your Dad?" It did faintly sound like him. I turned and there he was slapping his thigh along to the beat of some old country song, Mom singing right next to him, tenor. Everyone else caught on, and Mom smiled and waved and said, "Hi, Honey!") Anyway, we had pillows and sheets and we spread them out, laughing about who knows what and making some astrobrilliant comments. "I think that's the Big Dipper," and other comments of the like because our Science classes were boring and rather left us ignorantly believing there really were Greek gods in the sky.
"Do you guys hear something?" Tammy flipped onto her belly. I did, too. My contacts were getting blurry, but what I saw was a bright flashlight (but waaaay bigger) and a bat swinging back and forth in the light, two figures coming straight for us. "What the heck?" Tammy stood up, and Jessie covered her eyes--the shy one of the group. I lay waiting for what would become our first street verbal fight.
"You the little hoodlums that vandalized the park bathrooms?"
"What?!" Tammy said indignantly.
"YOU THE SEVENTH GRADE HOODLUMS WHO TORE UP THE BATHROOMS?"
"Who the heck are you?" Tammy looked ready to fight, one fist clenching. It was an older couple, very obviously distraught and ready to attack.
"We clean these damn parks every week, and these damn kids in this effin town got no respect, doin' whatever the hell they feel they can do. Why the hell would you to that?" The lady had her bat up, the man was shining the light into all our eyes, except Jessie had hers covered and her head down in her pillow. Tammy looked angrier and angrier, and I wanted to sit them down, take away their bat and flashlight, and figure out exactly what was the matter.
Tammy kept saying, "We're seniors! Do we look like seventh graders? Who would come to a park, vandalize the bathrooms, then hang out there to get caught?"
I kept saying, "I think we should just stop a minute. Let's figure out why you have a bat. Jessie looks scared."
Jessie only stayed quiet.
"Furthermore, you girls are young, this is I-90! You live right along I-90! Why would you lay here when hobos of all sizes could get you at any moment. Damn strait that woman cop's not going to do anything!"
I was beginning to get it. Our small town had begun creating a vigilante system Montana had banned 80 years earlier all because we now had a woman cop.
"You're right," I said, believing rhetoric was best on my side. I'd been educated, somewhat, and it seemed they had never even heard of Plato.
"No it's not alright!" Tammy, a five-foot-nothing senior high school girl, was ready to fight these people. Her inverted knuckles against their bat.
"No, Tam, it's alright! Thank you, ma'am. Thank you, sir. For looking out for us. As you can see we are not seventh grade hoodlums (but I may have been one at one time, what with the spray paint and eggs, but I didn't say that) and we are seniors in high school, and we go to youth group and we like doing good stuff, and we enjoy being innocent, and you should put your bat down. Yes, thank you!"
Then I said we'd go home now, and they said they'd watch us leave, and so Jessie quietly gathered our sheets and pillows, and Tammy was still ready to fight and I was ready for all to be right in the world.
"Thank you," I said one last time.
The next day Tammy filed a complaint against this couple. She said she met Angie later that evening. "You're coming down to the police station with me. I couldn't get Jessie to do it, but you're doing this."
"Sure," I said. I'd definitely had a very long night mare about a couple slowly creeping toward me with a bat and a flashlight, so I felt justice could be served.
There we met Angie, the woman cop.
"Alright," she motioned to Tammy. "Thank you for talking to me last night. What I'd like to do is take you individually in back where I'll record our conversation which will detail exactly what when on last night. You said there was one other girl with you?"
"Yeah. Jessie."
"She's unwilling to interview?"
"She just burried her face in her sweatshirt the whole time, ma'am. She's very shy," I said.
She motioned for Tammy to go first, and I waited there in the loby area waiting for Tammy to finish. I'd read stories about stuff like this, and it was making me nervous. What if Rewitz knew that I'd sabatoged some man's mailbox, or some person's truck, or the dugouts, or The Garden Cafe? I saw Rewitz's picture hanging up on the wall, the perfectly trimmed dark mustache. Next to his was Jeff's portrait. I say portrait because they were large pictures. He too had a perfectly trimmed blond mustache. Next to his was Angie. She was pretty. But I scolded myself for thinking such a thing about a female cop, remembering what Jeff would have done if he'd heard anyone say anything about her being a woman. Next to her portrait hung one more. "Dennis" it said underneath. That's a good name for a cop, I thought. Dennis. A couple years later Tammy said, "I can't stand Dennis." His mustache was a milky brown.
I heard the clicking of the recorder. I imagined it was one of those really old ones from the seventies. Then I continued to hear every question Angie asked and every answer Tammy said. "Did you feel frightened?"
"Yes. They had a bat and were blinding us with the flashlight."
I took a mental note to say almost everything Tammy said so that our answers would be consistent. Was this like cheating on the ITBS tests? Maybe. My point is that the walls were so paper thin that I could hear all her answers, and she could hear mine, and Angie said, "Well you two definitely know your story."
"Yes, ma'am."
"I'll see what I can do, girls. Thank you for coming in."
Then we went to the penny candy store and loaded a couple bags full and watched The Sandlot. Make that four things to do in Manhattan, Montana.
"Criminals could cheat all the time in our good-for-nothing police station," I told Tammy half-way through the movie. Wendy Peffercorn was escorting the nerdy boy with glasses out of the pool for full on mouth kissing her.
"So?"
"So! So it means that one person could testify and then another and bam, you have a consistent story and so you have a case!"
"I don't think that's how it goes, Lou."
"Well whatever. It bothers me."
A few days later Tammy said that Angie told the park people it wasn't their park to keep up. They were to stay away and were not allowed to carry the bat around anymore. There's nothing illegal about flashlights, so we think they got to keep that.

A year later I worked night shifts at a retirement home. Dad had recently hit a deer with the Taurus, so I only had one headlight. On my way to work one night, Angie pulled me over. "Ma'am, you have one headlight out. You're gonna need to get that fixed."
"Yeah. Dad hit a deer. I'll get it fixed." I never did, but for the next 8 weeks about two or three nights a week, she pulled me over, as was necessary, to tell me my headlight was out. "Get it fixed." "Ok, Angie." We were on a first name basis. And I liked that. That winter a gravel road corner was so iced over I lost control of that car and drove it in the ditch. So the headlight thing no longer became a problem.

Cops were always sort of mine and Tammy's thing. There's a consistency in small towns that you don't get anywhere else. The "hey, how's it going" nature of small towns and of the people in them exists for the community of that town. This week I drove back to Indiana from South Dakota and for the second time in a year I got pulled over in Iowa, but this time it was in a construction zone. I kept my seatbelt on, got out the essentials, tried to pull an i'm-going-to-cry-but-still-be-very-respectful face.
"Ma'am, do you know how fast you were going back there?"
"Not exactly, sir. I was just slowing down."
"This is a construction zone. You realize that?"
"Yes. I was slowing down."
He didn't even smile or have a name tag. His mustache was crooked. He must enjoy pulling over college-age looking girls who look like they don't have money, I thought. "Oh yeah, you've made it so big," I was saying out loud while he was back in his car doing paperwork or whatever it is they do in there. I got fined. A lot. For a minute I teared up, but stopped. Where's Jeff when I need him? Or Angie? Or even that old crank Rewitz?
This man's face is lost in the memory of a straight-billed hat, sunglasses, and a quick smile.
"Alright, ma'am. Drive carefully. Watch out for the construction zones."
"Yes, sir."

Hokey Smokes

It's been a while. Sorry about that.
Lately I've taken up piano. I've wanted to play forever but never had the chance. One drawback is that I don't own a piano or a keyboard, so I have to sneak into school, lock myself in the music room, and wait for all the people to leave so I can start butchering Jingle Bells. If I hear voices, the music suddenly stops. There's a reason for that. There are five-year-old kids better than me who can keep a beat and can remember how to match the keys to music in no time flat (piano reference intended). Maybe in four years I'll let somebody hear me.
That's all I have to say about that.

Also, school is finished.
No big deal.
Kidding. It's a big deal, and every time I think about how I don't have to plan out another whole week of lessons and grade a billion stacks of papers, I get this overwhelming feeling of serenity and peace. You mean I get to go a whole day without having to hear my own voice? It's been a long time coming. Now I'm going to finish crocheting a blanket, spend time with family and friends that I've been neglecting for a while, get pumped for Dani's wedding and to see all my Canadian friends (I stinking miss you people!) hang out with Grandma in Montana and just do whatever. Oh, and plan for next year, but can we just dismiss that fact for a bit? Please? Thank you.

Praying you're all doing well. I'll write a better post later, one with lots of reflective bits about education and a newfound determination to hunt down Justin Bieber, tell him he's ruining the minds of young high school girls, hand him a pink slip, and walk away. Oh what a changed world we would become if we could fire celebrities.

Indiana--Whereabouts?

It's official. I am an Indiana resident, complete with my licenses (which I should have aquired a long time ago) and voting registration. They told me where I vote each year. They took the old Montana driver's license without letting me say goodbye. I was 20, would turn 21 that summer while in Alaska, and it was the best picture ever taken at the license bureau, a million times better than a frightened and worried 15-year-old girl half-smiling because she'd just failed her first driving test. Anyway, the Indiana license bureau lady took my latest one, sealed it in a bag, and sent it off to somewhere in the government.
This happened about a month ago.
Since then, and since summer, the only places I'd really toured in Indiana were Merrilville and Valpo because of their shopping districts. I've also been watching Parks and Recreation, which is set in a small Indiana town.
Yesterday I heard a feint calling: "Just drive. Juuuuussssst driiiiiive." Kidding. Not sure I did. But, anyway, I practically ran away from school, hopped in my car, changed into jeans at home, grabbed a Bible and left.
Before I left for Indiana last summer, Dad had set a new alas in my backseat. "You'll need this." From years of trucking he knew every major highway from LA to New York. He knew all the little highways and backroads to bypass weigh stations when a load was too heavy. "Thanks, Dad," I filed through the pages to Indiana, its territory still so unfamiliar. They had many roads, quished closely together, it looked like. Montana is this huge open space, where roads mostly follow the land, where you can't just plow through mountains to get where you want.
I always wondered why he was such a big dreamer, why one small idea was not quite enough for him, why he had a bigger idea forever brewing in his mind, and now I think I understand a little more. These backroads of the US have an unchartable terrain. Just think of the first men and women who settled here and there and staked their claim on the soil. They might have drawn maps of the territory, marked a river here and there, sent it back home for others to see, but you don't understand it until you go there. Try to be narrow minded while traveling the world. I dare you.
The music was loud, the windows were down on this 60+ degree day, and my car Electra was fully quipped, atlas and all. I followed a couple country roads, hit a couple backroads, found another highway, and kept driving. Kouts. Lacrosse. Went South from there, following nature preserve signs.
The Kankakee river is almost overflowing right now. Jim, the man from whom I rent, told me back in October that the river is unnatural. DeMotte and surrounding towns are built on a marsh, so the people of Jasper county and other areas built it up in order to irrigate blueberries, strawberries, and corn. So when the river overflows, and it overflows often, the town deals with flooding.
I followed the Kankakee river a little ways then crossed it on a country backroad. Potholes everywhere. Soon after I parked my car and marked on the map where I'd just traveled. Then I saw it. Bass Lake. 15 miles to the East.
A person ought always to keep driving.
The terrain, the understanding you get from just going a bit further...suddenly the map you see becomes real, and you begin to believe there are such places not just know they exist.
Not that Bass Lake was brilliant. Not that I hadn't seen a hundred little lakes just like it before. Not that I didn't think a tiny Montana mountain lake was more thrilling. No, I didn't sit there in awe or marvel at this lake. Instead what made it beautiful, what makes everything beautiful in the evenings, was the sun. It had begun to set over me and my Navajo blanket and Bible and books. In time I'd like to discover every part of America where the sun touches down on our hungry crops and beautiful stretches of beaches. It is a yearning deep within me.

Last night as the sun was just going down, I read Psalm 84: "How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord Almighty! My sould yearns, and even faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh cry out for the living God. ...Better is one day in your courts than a thousand eslewhere; I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of the wicked. For the Lord God is a sun and a shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor; no good thing does he withold from those whose walk is blameless. O Lord almighty, blessed is the man who trusts in you."

Get to know a place. Let the sun shine on it. And let God bless you.

Pan

For once I'd like to dive into bed and realize it's a pool instead, engulfing my stomach, my nose, my feet. That'd be a surprise.

For once I'd like to drag race my 1999 Buick Park Avenue through the two-mile strip in town and not face jail time.

For once I'd like to climb a birch tree and weigh the very tip of a branch so low that I could slide down and reach ground again.

For once I'd like to jump off a ten story building and string a web from my wrists or unfold an umbrella or span my wings

For once I'd like to shave half of my hair or bedazzle my face or quirk-ify my style.

For once I'd like to bust out a musical talent somewhere and write witty, angry, funny songs like the queen herself Kate Nash.

For once I'd like to say, "People (eople...eople...eople) of our great Nation (ation...ation...ation). Now is the time (ime...ime...ime) to stand up and stay strong in a world of strife (ife...ife...ife)" on the steps of our Lincoln Memorial

For once I'd like to "shake it like a Polaroid picture," but that's been a dream since high school when everyone else dreamed the same thing

Peter Pan is teaching me that when the first baby sneezed faeries were shattered all around

And that thimbling is so much more fun than giving kisses

And that maybe dreams can co-exist with reality.

Thank you, Mr. Barrie.

What to Say?

It has been said that three things you should never talk about on a first date are religion, politics, and and past relationships. It's best to keep things light, not to burden someone to make those big decisions about you right away.

Maybe the same rules could apply to a blog. If I were a politician, I'd probably have 30% interest out there, talking about Obama, slamming him or adoring him. If I were to say angry remarks over the traditionalism of some churches or the wavering innovations of other churches, I'd maybe lose a few more of you. And come on, aside from the random mention of the fact that there have been past guys, you don't need the details. And to preserve their dignity, maybe it's best to mum onesself.

I bet there are more rules out there: no talking about sex; no discussing huge lifechanges; no talking about money; no talking about views on marriage; no being too negative.

I guess those rules don't leave much left for a blog except maybe for topics on weather. Speaking of weather, it's sunny today, a bit cloudy, but deceivingly chilly here in Indiana. My pedicure will never see the light of day again. Will I ever get Florida back?

Yes, this entire blog was one round-about way to say that I love Florida's weather. If you're at a loss for words, don't want to step on any toes, don't want to make any big decisions about life, just know that it's okay to talk about Florida.

I'll be going back there someday. My skin can almost handle it.

RESPONSIBILITY

one deep breath annnnnnd.....go

no title, just thoughts here

What teacher stays up past midnight?
Me. Grading papers. Woe is I.

Anywho, teacherisms aside, I think I'm still Laurissa.

And maybe I'll be coming to a town near you in the future...preferrably between the months of June and July.

Later gaters.

Slam poetry

I challenged my students to write a slam poem. So I wrote one, too:


Word Stealers

To the spacey story lovers who find more importance in a single word than in a lifetime of talking.
I am you.
Or maybe I want to be you.

Today we say too much, we ramble on and on and on and on
And we can't keep a story straight to save our lives. Yada yada, he said she said.
Celebrities fought, critics cried, politicians pleaded
I'm up to my head in all the world's talk.

Leaders and politicians are still saying more
Because their "Ladies and gentlemen"
and "To whom it may concern" and their
"we'll make it better" tributes
are believed to turn tides. But come on, guys. You're talking too much.
You're consuming all the words.

And the heartless, made-up, done-up, congenial,
perfect white smiles on the 5 O'Clock news,
it's your cheesy grin,
your latest jokes and a not a second later, you take more cues
to speak about death and riots and your hair hasn't even moved
much less tears ensued. And don't you care? There goes Uganda. There goes Egypt.
Oh, that's right.
You're a projector.

The senseless chatter, the subjects that don't matter,
"Oh and God," I pray. "Please be with us in this day.
And bless this day, and bless her and him and the grass, the leaves. And Lord, cure the hangnail on my finger...wa. wa. wa. wa"
No better than Charlie Brown's teacher. And I wonder: "Is God ever telling us
to just be quiet?"

Just shhhhhh


think


Maybe it scares us, the silence.


Because we can't control the silence but we can control the noise


And now I remember. It's in First Kings, nineteen.
God says: "Go out and wait for me" and so we do
we stand on the mountain, and a great gusting wind blows us half away down
and shatters a mountain. "It's God! It's God!" we cry,
but he is not in the wind

Then an earthquake. I can see it. We're all yelling at the top of our lungs,
and it shakes us to and fro, and surely this is God with all his gusto.
But he is not in the earthquake.

A fire blazes, and our pyromaniac faces glow in the phases
of read and white and hot, fiery oranges. "It's God! Surely it's him!" and we're sure
He'll show up with a robe aflame.
But he's not in the fire.

Then a whisper. Hush.
I
said

a whisper.


Shhhh.

Be quiet Ron Swanson. Shut your face, Obama. You dutiful prayers. Not even you are worthy.
Quit believing God is in all our raccous noises. Stop rambling. Stop.

It's time we listened.

Ning

Have I told you I love the Ning?

Because I do.

And this love will probably continue on forever.

So yeah.

The Ning and I will walk

Hand in hand

Throughout the rest of my teaching career.

Tipsified

If Brad Paisley hadn't already paid a mocking tribute to the subject, I'd have done it now. Imagine prohibitionists having their way with America today. "You can't drink." Oh, ok. That means that beer fests and fairs and sports depots and Nascar and hockey and football and I think baseball (but that's more geared to the use of cigars) and breathalizers and Budweiser horses and vineyards and Lidnsay Lohan as we now know her...all of if it...would be out of business.
Drinking starts with a phrase like this: "It's been a terrible week. I could use a drink." (I think) So a few friends who agree say the same, and wala, you have a party. (yes?)
Maybe I need to give you a history of my experience with the subject matter for you to truly understand my aloofness.
Age 7: I stayed at a friend's house, her dad had just opened a beer can and left the kitchen. "Do you want a sip?" "Ok." I took a sip and immediately spit it out. Who would make a drink that tases so bitter and disgusting when there are amazing drinks like JuicyJuice in the world?
Age 9: "You want to be in our gang? But to join you have to smoke one whole cigarette, drink three swallows of beer, and ride the train across town." I thought about the stakes for a moment, but I remembered not liking beer, and I envisioned myself tripping under the train somehow and getting a limb sliced off, and I had asthma, so the cigarette would probably have sent me to the hospital. No, I would not join my brother's friend group. I felt so guilty about having been asked to be in a gang that I told Mom that afternoon. That tattle-tale moment guaranteed that no gang in a five mile radius would ask me to join.
Age 12: "You want some fizzy juice?" Ashley was stepping on a stool, feeling around in a cupboard higher than her eye level. "It's really, really, really good." "Ok," I said. Ashley had found one fizzy juice bottle. She cut the paper around the seal, twisted the cap off, and said, "Yeah. This is my favorite stuff. It's better than apple juice." She took a swallow. "Want some?" I was about to swallow some when her mom got home from work. "That's not yours! Ashley!" And then I had to go home.
Age 14: "I say we just do it." By this age I was fully aware of what many alcohol substances looked like. We were standing in her parents' garage. "Maybe if we put it in sippy cups," she said. "Oh yeah. They'll never suspect anything if we're drinking out of sippy cups," I said. She twisted the bottle around in her hands. "I drink out of sippy cups all the time." After about two more minutes of deliberation we decided that we would make a blended coffee frappe instead. And we did. And it was delicious. And we drank it while we watched re-runs of Lizzy McGuire.
Ages15-18: High school. "Do you want to go to a party?"
"Of course."
"Do you know anyone who is having one?"
"I thought you did."
"No, I just wanted to go, and I thought maybe you knew of someone."
"No."
"Hmmm. Want to come over and watch Friends?"
"Of course."

I'm going to debunk the myth of peer pressure right now. Most kids don't get in your face like the commercials and DARE videos say. I have personally never seen kids circling around me with cigarettes and drugs and alcohol saying, "Do it. Come on. You're only cool if you do it. Come on. Come on. You know you want it." I guess Stevie from the gang could fit the category. But I like to think that any rational human being, age 9 or 20, knows how to have a conscience and say no.

Age 19 and 20: Mmmmm. Nope.
Age 21: I was serving as a counselor in Alaska the day I turned 21. "You going on a booze cruise?" asked another counselor. "I don't think there's alcohol for fifty miles around the camp. But," I held up a handmade card from one of my campers, "I'm going to get drunk off of love from my campers." My co-counselor shook his head, and for the rest of summer the subject was dropped.
When I flew home at the end of summer, before going back to college, Grandpa asked if I'd had anything yet. "Besides one sip of beer in first grade...no." We were at Applebees. "She'll have a Strawberry Daquiri." The waiter winked at me and left. Suddenly I felt like I was in a whole new club. The over 21 and I legally drink club. "Mom and Dad should really be worried about me," and Grandpa laughed.
College after 21: Dordt's policy is no alcohol on campus. My roommates and I were sitting around the table talking about Dordt's alcoholic sub-culture, a taboo subject, really. I'd heard of many Doc's dances and many, many miniature refrigerators stocked with drinks. We lived in the most run-down apartments on campus. They came complete with mold, and they were originally used for temporary housing. That was back in the 70s. "You know, I heard that people used to throw all their beer bottles in the roofs and walls of East Campus. Someone checked once and they said the walls are filled with old bottles." We decided to check it out. "Laurissa, you're the tallest, so you reach through the ceiling and shove this can into the wall." Brilliant. We had all filed to the bathroom, cans in hand. I pushed the can through the ceiling and dropped it in the wall. "Did you hear anything?" "Mmmm. I can't tell." "Put another one in." I pushed another can into the wall, but the same vague sound of a can maaaaybe hitting another can recurred. We decided the only way to tell was to actually look. Two minutes later I was standing with a flashlight, my head poked through the moldy roof, craning my neck over the side of the wall, checking to see if the walls of East Campus Apartments were, indeed, filled with beer bottles accumulating since the '70s.
They weren't.
I saw only the two cans we had dropped. "Well now the myth is kind of true," someone said, and we went back to eating supper.
I cooked with wine on campus once but had to ask the room up one level for a cork screw. Their eyes lighted up and they followed me downstairs. "Oh we thought..."
Yeah. After they left, my roommates and I drank the excess wine with a fruity pop.

After very little experience with alcohol, I must say that I do know a few things. My legs get really warm when I drink wine. Fruity drinks are my favorite. I don't drink beer. My limit is two 8% drinks. It really doesn't take much at all.

A few days ago Tera said, "It's been a terrible week." "It has been for me too," I said. So we drank fuzzy peach navels. They are 32%, and about three drinks (swallows...yeah, three swallows) in we could feel it. Question: Does two 32% drinks mean 64%? (kidding...kind of). Anyway, we were both tired by 9:30. And the evening ended shortly after. Tera's boyfriend James texted and jokingly asked us how the beer pong was. We saw some ping pong balls, and I asked tera if she hand any red cups. We scrambled to set up a mock game of beer pong, took a picture, and sent it to him. He believed us.
This is how I know that drinking really isn't my thing. Who jokingly sets up beer pong and gets more excited by the fact that it looks like beer pong, but doesn't actually play it?

Me.

So what is humanity's fascination with alcohol? A ridiculous question, I know.

I want you to know that right now we're faking a hangover for James's sake, saying that we made Bloody Marys this morning (something I learned from GLEE, yeah, that show where they support teen drinking).

In reality Tera is knitting and I'm writing a blog.


One hour after this blog was posted:
***My alcohol savvy friend Beth just informed me that it would be highly unlikely for us to drink anything with 32% alcohol in it. It's true. We looked back at the labels and they actually said 3.2%. We each had two of those. We are so good at being fake drunk.