So, the main reason that I came on here is to document the encounter of an interesting man that we met at the Olive Garden tonight; he was our waiter, and the first thing that struck me was that he looked a lot like Mike Aiken from drumline, except taller, and a little different. He was super-skinny with glasses and lots of flair on the collar of his work attire.
His voice had a Southern sort of slur in it; and this was the reason for tonight's instance of my renewal of my faith in humanity.
We were sitting around, full, when he approached our table to box our leftover food.
"Will you guys be having any dessert tonight?" he asked. "Maybe some coffee cake, or tirami siu (I might have just murdered the spelling of that)?" But the point is, he said 'tirami siu' in a way that brought to mind old Southern women, rocking in a rocking chair on a large plantation-style porch. And this renewed my faith in humanity, yes.
My father and grandfather were discussing the tip, and I said, "He deserves 18% just for the way that he said 'tirami siu.'" They ended up tipping at least 20%, though I don't think that his pronunciation figured into the amount that they decided on. He was a super-nice guy (though I don't remember his name), and I hope that any of my readers who frequent the Olive Garden have him in the future (and if he doesn't mention it during the meal, ask him to name a list of possible dessert items so that your faith in humanity can be renewed also).
We had an absorbing conversation during the meal that involved my dad's Sunday school teacher, of whom he is rather in awe. Apparently his lectures go beyond the boundaries of conventional Christianity and touch on the controversial things that might offend some of closed minds. My dad said that the lectures focused on the "Sermon on the Mount" and the old and new covenants, mainly the interpretation of the second one. My dad's Sunday school teacher took the second covenant to mean that our purpose in life is to bring "Godliness," or heaven, to Earth, to make a "New Jerusalem" with the tools that we are given; and that tool, being the most vital part of the formula, is Love. Not through judgment, but through mercy and love of our brothers shall we bring about an ideal society. In the middle of this conversation, I had a mind to ask, "Well, what about the people who already died? If this 'New Jerusalem' is indeed going to come to pass in our tangible Earth, then how will the deceased be able to take part in it?" to which he responded, "I believe that they've already played their part in God's plan." I sat on this as an earlier point was being debated back and forth, and came to the conclusion that my dad most likely was not hinting at the possibility that people, just because of the misfortune of being born too soon, would not be able to go to "Heaven." The way he said it provoked me to believe that he was hinting at something deeper, something, perhaps, that he was afraid the others wouldn't approve of, being of conventional Christian beliefs. So I asked him, trying to be just as discreet, "So, are you implying that the deceased (who have played their part in God's plan) possess a sort of energy that allowed them to bring the Earth that much closer to its intended state, and once their body perishes, that energy (or soul) moves on to occupy a new vessel?" My dad nodded and tried to be humble, "Well, I'm not saying that that's the way it is; that's just what I believe." Despite that being his own belief, I sat and thought on his proposal for a while; I'd already known that my dad believed in a reincarnation of sorts, and as I grow older and observe the various cycles around me (such as the water cycle, cycle of seasons, even in the behavior of certain animals), this seems to make more sense; it would simply be another cycle in nature, a cycle of energy, which exists already: no energy is created or destroyed (or at least, I think that's how the law goes, Law of Conservation of Energy, or something like that). So anyways, I apologize for even including this long rant on here; it's more for my future self to ponder than for anyone else. Disregard it if its content offends you.
Anyways, today was eventful in other ways as well: my dad had his examination done today; he wasn't allowed to eat anything except for jello yesterday, hence our celebration at the Olive Garden tonight. Also, apparently my short story, entitled "Eleanor," will get a good grade from Ms. Jones, because I shared it today and she seemed to like it all right. Our band concert is on Thursday, and our Christmas parade is on Saturday. My grandparents, sadly, will be leaving tomorrow, but their stay here has been of a longer length than usual and eventful.
I also think that I'll briefly mention a stressful dream that I had a few nights ago. It was the end of a school day, and Saoirse and I were walking to where the landing would be in waking life, across from the auditorium at the main building. Instead of the landing, there was this huge enclosed space that reminded me of a greenhouse, though the glass was clear. There were a pair of double doors where the landing would be, and one could see the parking lots beyond the glass. When Saoirse and I arrived in this enclosed area, she immediately looked up to the top of the colossal structure.
"What're you looking for?" I asked.
"Oh, my mom's painting the wall up there today." she said distractedly; she finally spotted her mom, who was wearing paint-streaked jeans and a tank top; she stood on the roof several feet above us, and she waved jovially. We returned the wave and sat down against the wall, looking out toward the glass.
Through some doors on our left emerged what must have been about half of the school population, led by an un-named person in a certain orange shirt, who made a knot in the depths of my stomach tighten. I sat there, tense, trying to inspire myself to take some sort of action; the people, meanwhile, took seats all along the wall in chattering groups, also waiting for something. Un-named person scurried around as if he was in a desperate search for a lost object. I stood up to speak to him, but he rushed past and out through the double-glass doors as though he was leaving the school grounds completely. I sat down, deflated, until he rushed back in and stood near the doors, beckoning to the rest of the school population with his hand. They stood together, one great mass, and marched toward the door, which he held open. He tried to reach to hold the other door open as well, and so I jumped at the chance to help. I walked up and held the other door, attempting to converse with him through the mobs of people who were walking past, with whom he was engaged in conversation. Then, as the last people filed through, he followed quickly without a word or glance in my direction, and I waved a wave that the back of his head didn't see. Then a woman appeared who was his mother in the dream, though I'm fairly certain that she looks different in waking life, and she stood on the sidewalk in front of the glass door which I still held open, looking at me sadly. She said something unimportant which I forget now; the only part I remember from the dream after this was noticing a piece of dropped paper on the ground near the other door which was held open by the un-named person. I picked up this paper and read, in that handwriting, "Dinner party plans: gather everyone invited near the landing, wait for the cars to drive us there. . ." and then I didn't read on. Keep in mind that the group going was about as large as half the school's population. It was about here that I woke up.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Saturday, November 28, 2009
More Dreams
Last night, I had two rather odd dreams that I will report to you this morning. First, let me say that Thanksgiving was fabulous; my grandparents came up from Atlanta and my grandmother made a nice, traditional turkey dinner for the occasion. They're going to stay until Monday, and we've had a great time with them so far, playing cards, playing tennis, going for walks in the neighborhood, and playing the piano. My grandfather gave me one of my Christmas presents early, which consisted of this awesome book of piano sheet music from all the different eras: Baroque, Classical, Romantic, and Contemporary. It has this piece that I've been meaning to try to learn ever since I saw it on Youtube: Mozart's second movement of the K.545 Sonata in C.
So, to the dreams: the first one was rather tame compared to the following dream. In this initial dream, my mother and I were both in the Winston-Salem Symphony. She played the timpani and I played all of the mallet instruments (xylophones, vibraphones, etc.). We had rehearsals every day, and we would all meet in the Reynolds parking lot outside of the arts building to be shepherded over to some practice hall in activity buses. My band director, for whatever reason, would take attendance and drive one of the buses over to the building. On the night of a performance, my mom approached me in the parking lot and said, "I've forgotten my music. Can I trade instruments with you?" This seemed reasonable to me in the dream, because I apparently had memorized both of our parts. So I said, "All right with me. We should probably check with the director first."
Then, as we were about to board the buses, Mr. James came up to us and said, "You know, you were supposed to wear shades of brown or black for the concert tonight."
I looked down, and sure enough, I was wearing a neon green shirt and some purple pants. My mom was appropriately dressed, however. As the buses pulled into the parking lot, I said, "Tell them to wait just a second!" before running frantically to the door of the arts building. After jiggling the knob for a moment, I pulled the door open and dashed across the hall to the band room. My backpack was on the floor, and I rummaged in it for some black or brown clothes. I heard the engine start outside, and tore back to the buses clutching a black, collared shirt from my Hanes days and a pair of tight, brown corduroy pants that I have never owned in my waking life.
I got onto the bus just in time, and I don't remember what happened during the trip to the performing hall. I just remember that when we arrived, I was faced with the prospect of confronting the symphony director about a possible switch of instruments before the concert that night. I was disappointed to find him in a bad mood. As we stepped down from the buses, the sun was setting and we could just barely make him out at the far end of the parking lot, pacing back and forth in his concert outfit. One of the assistant conductors seemed to be trying to console him, but he waved them off after a few seconds. I was unsure of how to approach him. People were muttering around us, gossiping about the possible reasons for the director's displeasure. My mother eventually tugged me over to where he stood on the edge of the parking lot to inquire about our situation.
"Excuse me, Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but -" and then he looked over and his eyes were red, as though he had cried. I searched for words of comfort, found none, was nudged by my mother to continue. But before I did continue, I woke up to find that I had been sleeping for several hours with my neck in the wrong position with the result of severe pain in the right side of my neck as I turned over and attempted to go back to sleep.
I did, eventually, only to find myself in an equally strange, deeply disturbing dream. In this dream, I was at my mother's house, sitting on a couch in the front room (the couch was placed where the piano would be in real life). We were in the right part of the front room, and the left part was no longer a living room as it is in waking life: it was closed off, with a door, and it was a bedroom.
My mother and I were sitting on this couch, anxious for one reason or another. In the next, closed off room, there was a dog laying in the bed, deeply ill (I'm not sure which dog it was, or if it even was one of our dogs). We sat there as though we were waiting for some action, action which came to pass in the next minute. Wesley came walking through the hallway silently. He paused at the door to the bedroom before entering and closing the door behind him. A few moments later, we heard the crack of a gunshot, as though he had euthanized the ill dog, and perhaps this was what we had intended to do in the first place. My mother and I continued to sit on the couch, and Wesley exited the room, clutching a gun that he had not possessed when entering the room. He walked back down the hallway from whence he came, and left the dream completely from that moment on. My mother then stood up, leading the way to the open door of the bedroom. We walked through the door, perhaps with the intent of cleaning up the mess on the bed. We stopped in our tracks as we entered; there, on the bed, was not a dog, but a human being. The child on the bed was not identifiable, partially because it was unknown to us and partially because of its current, dead condition. I was shocked into tears, and I knelt on the floor beside the bed, hoping that I had been seeing things, that the child was still, in reality, the ill dog which had been put out of its misery. I was going to stand up to confirm this hope when I woke up for the second and final time. Disturbing dream? Yes.
So, to the dreams: the first one was rather tame compared to the following dream. In this initial dream, my mother and I were both in the Winston-Salem Symphony. She played the timpani and I played all of the mallet instruments (xylophones, vibraphones, etc.). We had rehearsals every day, and we would all meet in the Reynolds parking lot outside of the arts building to be shepherded over to some practice hall in activity buses. My band director, for whatever reason, would take attendance and drive one of the buses over to the building. On the night of a performance, my mom approached me in the parking lot and said, "I've forgotten my music. Can I trade instruments with you?" This seemed reasonable to me in the dream, because I apparently had memorized both of our parts. So I said, "All right with me. We should probably check with the director first."
Then, as we were about to board the buses, Mr. James came up to us and said, "You know, you were supposed to wear shades of brown or black for the concert tonight."
I looked down, and sure enough, I was wearing a neon green shirt and some purple pants. My mom was appropriately dressed, however. As the buses pulled into the parking lot, I said, "Tell them to wait just a second!" before running frantically to the door of the arts building. After jiggling the knob for a moment, I pulled the door open and dashed across the hall to the band room. My backpack was on the floor, and I rummaged in it for some black or brown clothes. I heard the engine start outside, and tore back to the buses clutching a black, collared shirt from my Hanes days and a pair of tight, brown corduroy pants that I have never owned in my waking life.
I got onto the bus just in time, and I don't remember what happened during the trip to the performing hall. I just remember that when we arrived, I was faced with the prospect of confronting the symphony director about a possible switch of instruments before the concert that night. I was disappointed to find him in a bad mood. As we stepped down from the buses, the sun was setting and we could just barely make him out at the far end of the parking lot, pacing back and forth in his concert outfit. One of the assistant conductors seemed to be trying to console him, but he waved them off after a few seconds. I was unsure of how to approach him. People were muttering around us, gossiping about the possible reasons for the director's displeasure. My mother eventually tugged me over to where he stood on the edge of the parking lot to inquire about our situation.
"Excuse me, Sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but -" and then he looked over and his eyes were red, as though he had cried. I searched for words of comfort, found none, was nudged by my mother to continue. But before I did continue, I woke up to find that I had been sleeping for several hours with my neck in the wrong position with the result of severe pain in the right side of my neck as I turned over and attempted to go back to sleep.
I did, eventually, only to find myself in an equally strange, deeply disturbing dream. In this dream, I was at my mother's house, sitting on a couch in the front room (the couch was placed where the piano would be in real life). We were in the right part of the front room, and the left part was no longer a living room as it is in waking life: it was closed off, with a door, and it was a bedroom.
My mother and I were sitting on this couch, anxious for one reason or another. In the next, closed off room, there was a dog laying in the bed, deeply ill (I'm not sure which dog it was, or if it even was one of our dogs). We sat there as though we were waiting for some action, action which came to pass in the next minute. Wesley came walking through the hallway silently. He paused at the door to the bedroom before entering and closing the door behind him. A few moments later, we heard the crack of a gunshot, as though he had euthanized the ill dog, and perhaps this was what we had intended to do in the first place. My mother and I continued to sit on the couch, and Wesley exited the room, clutching a gun that he had not possessed when entering the room. He walked back down the hallway from whence he came, and left the dream completely from that moment on. My mother then stood up, leading the way to the open door of the bedroom. We walked through the door, perhaps with the intent of cleaning up the mess on the bed. We stopped in our tracks as we entered; there, on the bed, was not a dog, but a human being. The child on the bed was not identifiable, partially because it was unknown to us and partially because of its current, dead condition. I was shocked into tears, and I knelt on the floor beside the bed, hoping that I had been seeing things, that the child was still, in reality, the ill dog which had been put out of its misery. I was going to stand up to confirm this hope when I woke up for the second and final time. Disturbing dream? Yes.
Friday, November 20, 2009
The Defeat of the Undefeated
Tonight was the fateful playoff game, Reynolds vs. Tabor, the game which put us out of the running to win the state championship; this was ironic because we beat Tabor by quite a bit (if I remember correctly) earlier in the season. We lost 22-26; we were very close to making a last touchdown which, like at the West game, would have led us to an amazing victory. However, the ball was intercepted, and the game ended with Tabor students pouring onto the field.
We did get to play our half-time show tonight, which was nice; my dad and Daniel showed up to watch. Banks did an odd thing just before the second quarter ended which I shall remember, for whatever reason, for a long time, just as I still remember the smallest gesture that Peter and Genevieve made in fifth grade. It was the day of the Fairy Tale Ball, and when Taylor and I stepped forward into the middle of the gymnasium floor, I heard my name whispered; I looked over to see Peter and Genevieve sitting together on the floor against the wall with the rest of Mr. Esstmen's class. Genevieve said, "Good luck," and Peter gave a quick thumbs-up.
But anyways, I digress. There was about a minute left in the second quarter; I was standing just inside the fence, next to Ol' Bessie (the xylophone). Mr. James, on the other side of the fence, gave Banks the order to get the band assembled near the touchdown area. The band filed in, Banks near the middle, wearing his white drum major uniform. He passed me but then doubled back and held out his pinky finger. Uncertain of how I was supposed to respond, I took hold of it with my own pinky finger, and there was a solemn moment before he went to direct the rest of the band. Nothing was said and shortly after this a touchdown was made, putting us ahead of Tabor (alas, for only a short time).
Then we rolled everything to its respective place and performed the half-time show; my dad stood just on the far side of the fence and periodically yelled things like, "That's my baby!" and "You rock, Hon!" Afterwards he asked me if he embarrassed me. I told him, "No," to which he responded, "Well, I guess I wasn't yelling loud enough, then."
In the third quarter, we did a track show; I got to borrow Alex's second bass and it was fairly awesome.
On the bus on the way back, we sang our Alma Mater as usual, the words of which I will include in this post so that I don't forget them: "Amid the pines she proudly stands, to her our voices rise. We always shall love her, dear old Reynolds High. Our school of great tradition gives us all ambition; Alma Mater, Alma Mater, hail our Alma Mater!" We also exchanged jokes. Also, random unrelated news: today was kick a ginger/hug an Indian day. Before we all left the band room to go our separate ways, we exchanged hugs. A lot more people said that they would probably be at the movies tomorrow, most likely because they view it as a "farewell-to-marching-band" sort of thing. Shannon will also attend this event, bringing with her Charles, her new boyfriend, and his twin brother John. It will be quite the event.
In any case, this is all the news that I have to report tonight.
We did get to play our half-time show tonight, which was nice; my dad and Daniel showed up to watch. Banks did an odd thing just before the second quarter ended which I shall remember, for whatever reason, for a long time, just as I still remember the smallest gesture that Peter and Genevieve made in fifth grade. It was the day of the Fairy Tale Ball, and when Taylor and I stepped forward into the middle of the gymnasium floor, I heard my name whispered; I looked over to see Peter and Genevieve sitting together on the floor against the wall with the rest of Mr. Esstmen's class. Genevieve said, "Good luck," and Peter gave a quick thumbs-up.
But anyways, I digress. There was about a minute left in the second quarter; I was standing just inside the fence, next to Ol' Bessie (the xylophone). Mr. James, on the other side of the fence, gave Banks the order to get the band assembled near the touchdown area. The band filed in, Banks near the middle, wearing his white drum major uniform. He passed me but then doubled back and held out his pinky finger. Uncertain of how I was supposed to respond, I took hold of it with my own pinky finger, and there was a solemn moment before he went to direct the rest of the band. Nothing was said and shortly after this a touchdown was made, putting us ahead of Tabor (alas, for only a short time).
Then we rolled everything to its respective place and performed the half-time show; my dad stood just on the far side of the fence and periodically yelled things like, "That's my baby!" and "You rock, Hon!" Afterwards he asked me if he embarrassed me. I told him, "No," to which he responded, "Well, I guess I wasn't yelling loud enough, then."
In the third quarter, we did a track show; I got to borrow Alex's second bass and it was fairly awesome.
On the bus on the way back, we sang our Alma Mater as usual, the words of which I will include in this post so that I don't forget them: "Amid the pines she proudly stands, to her our voices rise. We always shall love her, dear old Reynolds High. Our school of great tradition gives us all ambition; Alma Mater, Alma Mater, hail our Alma Mater!" We also exchanged jokes. Also, random unrelated news: today was kick a ginger/hug an Indian day. Before we all left the band room to go our separate ways, we exchanged hugs. A lot more people said that they would probably be at the movies tomorrow, most likely because they view it as a "farewell-to-marching-band" sort of thing. Shannon will also attend this event, bringing with her Charles, her new boyfriend, and his twin brother John. It will be quite the event.
In any case, this is all the news that I have to report tonight.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
What a Day
So, today was pretty awesome, for several reasons. First of all, on the way to my dad's house from school, I ran into my fifth grade teacher, Mrs. McNatt, and she remembered who I was. I was walking with my iPod on, down Hawthorne Road, and I looked behind me and caught sight of a jogger on the opposite side of the street. After a few seconds, I decided to start singing ("My Girls" by Animal Collective). Then I was shocked and embarrassed when the jogger pulled up along side of me and spoke.
After I realized that it was Mrs. McNatt, she gave me a hug and asked me how I was. I told her that I really liked high school and that I had picked up my grades since elementary school. Then she asked me about my writing, and I had the chance to tell her that it was because of her instruction that I started to write poetry in the first place; we read this book in her class, called Out of the Dust, which was sort of like a Grapes of Wrath for a younger audience. The other thing that set it apart from Steinback was that it was written completely in verse. While we were reading this book, we were given an assignment to write a poem about something that makes us dance (I chose to write about when my relatives visit). From then on, I continued to write and love poetry.
After that, she asked me if I was still friends with Elizabeth and Sofia; I told her that we had grown apart in middle school, but that I was still close friends with Shannon. She asked me what I wanted to do when I left school, and I mentioned my aspiration to do something medical, whether it be something to do with surgery or psychology. She advised me to go to Carolina, where she said that two of her kids had graduated since I had been in fifth grade. Soon, we were at the place where I had to cross Hawthorne, and so I ended the conversation with a joke that my dad and I have had since my days of being constantly late in elementary school: "The good thing about living so close is that I can walk, and not be late to class." Then she laughed and jogged on.
Yesterday was pretty great as well. Saoirshe walked home with me after school and hung out until about 6:30. We worked on our Moravian Star math project (she got her base finished and I created one stellation). I had been in a pretty black mood all day (it might have been the weather; the sky was gloomy and it was wet and dull outside), but it was nice to be able to converse with a friend outside of the school setting. My dad made a slow-cooked pork roast for dinner, which actually came out pretty awesome. He told me to eat quickly, because Mark had invited us to go to the Wake Forest game that night. They were playing High Point University.
We arrived in the middle of halftime. By the end of the game, we had gained thirty more points and we beat High Point at about 79-56 or something like that. The best part of the game was the High Point team's coach. He was very expressive with his hands; it seemed that after every play, whether High Point scored or Wake scored or a foul was made, he clapped his hands furiously in his team's direction. Sometimes he simply gestured aggressively in the air, but he mostly clapped. I told my dad at the end of the game that High Point probably didn't win because he wasn't clapping loud enough.
I've been having weird dreams this week. I had none that I can remember last night, but the night before, I had a memorable one: I was traveling with a group of my friends to meet my parental in-laws for the first time (I was the same age in the dream, but somehow I was married). My husband was among the group that I traveled with, and we flew over (to where his parents lived) on an airplane. The part of the dream that I remember most was entering and walking around my parental in-laws' house. It was big and spacious and, like my grandparents' apartment in Atlanta, decorated mainly in reds and browns. There was a glossy piano in the middle of the floor of the living room, and a den-type room that reminded me of my grandmother's family room in Florida. Every now and then, the dream would fade out into another, in which I was myself in a movie theater beside the person who was my husband in the other dream; we were not married in this second dream. It was awkward, because it was one of those first-date-esque scenarios where you're not sure if you should hold the other person's hand. Eventually, when I leaned over to say some cheesy line like, "My hand is cold," he turned his face and kissed me. I was stunned, and then the dream changed back into the parental in-law dream. Now, my group traveled outside to an open area near the house where several small booths were set up around the perimeter of some picnic tables. My husband informed me that his parents owned a very successful outdoor restaurant; as he said this, flocks of people from all over gathered at the booths, grabbed plates of food, and settled at the various tables on the grass. As we walked to a booth to get a plate of spaghetti, I woke up.
If that dream was weird, then the one before it was even weirder. In this dream, my dad and I lived back in the old house on Cavalier Drive, though I still went to Reynolds High School. It was about 5:00 at night and I had to get to the school for a late marching band rehearsal. My dad said that he couldn't leave the house because he had things to do. "Take the car," he said, throwing the keys at me.
At first, I was sort of pleased. I was not the proper age in the dream to be driving, but I was still sort of excited (part of me seemed to realize that I was asleep, and that I would probably drive with great ease as a result). My excitement changed into terror as I climbed into the car, backed out of the drive, and started to travel up the hill. It seemed that there were five or six pedals on the floor, and my foot seemed to be stuck on the accelerator, because the car kept gaining speed. I wrenched my foot from the floor and searched for the brake as the car nearly flew over the crest of the hill, banging into a curb as it zoomed down the street. I could not find the brake; then I looked down and noticed that I had somehow gotten into fifth gear. I tried to change this as I took a right turn to avoid crashing into a truck. I was yanking at the stick-shift as the car flew across Country Club Road, narrowly sliding between two cars going in opposite directions. Then, with a heart-stopping crash, the car slammed into another car that was sitting in the parking lot of the gas station beside my mother's house. As I felt the airbags hit my chest with explosive force, I strained my eyes to see into the other car. I saw movement, and the faint outline of a baby's car-seat in the backseat of the car. I woke up then.
Anyway, I had dreamless sleep last night and woke up feeling rested today.
After I realized that it was Mrs. McNatt, she gave me a hug and asked me how I was. I told her that I really liked high school and that I had picked up my grades since elementary school. Then she asked me about my writing, and I had the chance to tell her that it was because of her instruction that I started to write poetry in the first place; we read this book in her class, called Out of the Dust, which was sort of like a Grapes of Wrath for a younger audience. The other thing that set it apart from Steinback was that it was written completely in verse. While we were reading this book, we were given an assignment to write a poem about something that makes us dance (I chose to write about when my relatives visit). From then on, I continued to write and love poetry.
After that, she asked me if I was still friends with Elizabeth and Sofia; I told her that we had grown apart in middle school, but that I was still close friends with Shannon. She asked me what I wanted to do when I left school, and I mentioned my aspiration to do something medical, whether it be something to do with surgery or psychology. She advised me to go to Carolina, where she said that two of her kids had graduated since I had been in fifth grade. Soon, we were at the place where I had to cross Hawthorne, and so I ended the conversation with a joke that my dad and I have had since my days of being constantly late in elementary school: "The good thing about living so close is that I can walk, and not be late to class." Then she laughed and jogged on.
Yesterday was pretty great as well. Saoirshe walked home with me after school and hung out until about 6:30. We worked on our Moravian Star math project (she got her base finished and I created one stellation). I had been in a pretty black mood all day (it might have been the weather; the sky was gloomy and it was wet and dull outside), but it was nice to be able to converse with a friend outside of the school setting. My dad made a slow-cooked pork roast for dinner, which actually came out pretty awesome. He told me to eat quickly, because Mark had invited us to go to the Wake Forest game that night. They were playing High Point University.
We arrived in the middle of halftime. By the end of the game, we had gained thirty more points and we beat High Point at about 79-56 or something like that. The best part of the game was the High Point team's coach. He was very expressive with his hands; it seemed that after every play, whether High Point scored or Wake scored or a foul was made, he clapped his hands furiously in his team's direction. Sometimes he simply gestured aggressively in the air, but he mostly clapped. I told my dad at the end of the game that High Point probably didn't win because he wasn't clapping loud enough.
I've been having weird dreams this week. I had none that I can remember last night, but the night before, I had a memorable one: I was traveling with a group of my friends to meet my parental in-laws for the first time (I was the same age in the dream, but somehow I was married). My husband was among the group that I traveled with, and we flew over (to where his parents lived) on an airplane. The part of the dream that I remember most was entering and walking around my parental in-laws' house. It was big and spacious and, like my grandparents' apartment in Atlanta, decorated mainly in reds and browns. There was a glossy piano in the middle of the floor of the living room, and a den-type room that reminded me of my grandmother's family room in Florida. Every now and then, the dream would fade out into another, in which I was myself in a movie theater beside the person who was my husband in the other dream; we were not married in this second dream. It was awkward, because it was one of those first-date-esque scenarios where you're not sure if you should hold the other person's hand. Eventually, when I leaned over to say some cheesy line like, "My hand is cold," he turned his face and kissed me. I was stunned, and then the dream changed back into the parental in-law dream. Now, my group traveled outside to an open area near the house where several small booths were set up around the perimeter of some picnic tables. My husband informed me that his parents owned a very successful outdoor restaurant; as he said this, flocks of people from all over gathered at the booths, grabbed plates of food, and settled at the various tables on the grass. As we walked to a booth to get a plate of spaghetti, I woke up.
If that dream was weird, then the one before it was even weirder. In this dream, my dad and I lived back in the old house on Cavalier Drive, though I still went to Reynolds High School. It was about 5:00 at night and I had to get to the school for a late marching band rehearsal. My dad said that he couldn't leave the house because he had things to do. "Take the car," he said, throwing the keys at me.
At first, I was sort of pleased. I was not the proper age in the dream to be driving, but I was still sort of excited (part of me seemed to realize that I was asleep, and that I would probably drive with great ease as a result). My excitement changed into terror as I climbed into the car, backed out of the drive, and started to travel up the hill. It seemed that there were five or six pedals on the floor, and my foot seemed to be stuck on the accelerator, because the car kept gaining speed. I wrenched my foot from the floor and searched for the brake as the car nearly flew over the crest of the hill, banging into a curb as it zoomed down the street. I could not find the brake; then I looked down and noticed that I had somehow gotten into fifth gear. I tried to change this as I took a right turn to avoid crashing into a truck. I was yanking at the stick-shift as the car flew across Country Club Road, narrowly sliding between two cars going in opposite directions. Then, with a heart-stopping crash, the car slammed into another car that was sitting in the parking lot of the gas station beside my mother's house. As I felt the airbags hit my chest with explosive force, I strained my eyes to see into the other car. I saw movement, and the faint outline of a baby's car-seat in the backseat of the car. I woke up then.
Anyway, I had dreamless sleep last night and woke up feeling rested today.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Reynolds vs. Reagan and Veterans Day Parade
This past Friday was the day of the Reynolds vs. Reagan game and yes, we are still undefeated - and yes, it was a stomping just as I had originally predicted. If I'm correct, I think that the final score was 33-9; we Reynolds students weren't as passionate about this win as we were about our triumph over West, and we only played our Fight Song once as opposed to the five times that we played it at the end of the West game.
That Friday was an interesting and fabulous day for many reasons. It was the day of our Fall Fest, so all of our classes were shortened by ten minutes, and at the end of seventh period, we were released onto the campus to visit the various booths that had been set up. It was very much like the fair in that all of the sold merchandise was overpriced, and I ended up getting birthday cake flavored ice cream for a total of nearly-worth-it $3.00. Saoirshe and I mainly wandered around and tried to find places where there weren't so many people; among others we ran into Elizabeth and Elisabeth, who kept informing us of the craziness of one booth down the hill which was becoming immensely popular; one paid a certain amount of money at the booth to have their friend incarcerated in a tiny dog gate which was erected beside the booth; in order for the incarcerated friend to escape "jail," there had to be an offering of money equal to the amount spent to put them in the "jail." Sadly, this was probably the booth which raised the most money.
When the 3:40 bell rang to signal the end of the day, I said goodbye to Saoirshe and Katelyn and hurried up to the arts building for marching band practice. People were still scattered around campus, and so the band room was fairly empty when I got there.
While we waited for people to arrive, Mitch and Alleyah decided to use the temple blocks for a word association game which was much like the famed "Concentration," except that you had to respond directly to the last word said. Among those who participated were Mitch and Alleyah (obviously), myself, Virginia, Laura, and a few dancing boot girls who wandered in. This amusing game lasted for about ten minutes before Mr. James, who was pushing chairs around, said "O.K. No more word association."
People gradually began to filter in, and we ran "America the Beautiful," and "The Star-Spangled Banner" before we took the former outside to march it around the auditorium. The last latecomers scrambled into their respective places in line as we marched.
After we were done rehearsing, we were instructed to load our instruments onto the trailer before the food arrived. We did this and still had time to wander around before the ordered pizza was set up in the hallway outside of the band room. While we waited, we mostly hung around outside, some of us playing football down by the main building and others just mingling near the bleachers. I joined a group of people that included Carrie and Virginia who were constructing a leafpile on the grass near the arts building; we kicked the leaves into the center until the pile was about waist high. Then, we lined up beside it, preparing to jump in, when suddenly Reid came out of nowhere and ran through it. Then, Virginia laid down in the leaf pile and people began to cover her with the scattered leaves. Someone took a picture of her, and then it was decided that it would be hilarious to have Virginia jump out at Yanal from the leaf pile.
Carrie and I ran around to the side of the building, where Yanal, Vipul, and Mike were messing around with the temple blocks; Yanal refused to accompany us around the building, but we persuaded Vipul to come in his place. We told him to admire the leaf pile, and he made to jump in it as Virginia simultaneously emerged. Thankfully, Virginia wasn't crushed, and it was quite amusing. Shortly after this, the pizza arrived, we ate (discussing various songs that we had learned in Spanish class while we waited in line), and then we boarded the buses to go to the game.
The game was at home. One of the more eventful parts of the night happened during halftime, when a group of us were standing together near the drum-line's section. George Bailey, a former student, had come to visit and was there also. I arrived as jokes were being exchanged, including the infamous humpback whale joke, the punch-line of which is a long, drawn-out noise that is supposed to resemble the noise that a humpback whale makes (Carrie had not heard this joke yet).
I then shared the "Supplies!" joke which was received poorly by all except for Vipul, who seemed to think it was funny; I then discovered that he had never heard the "Interrupting Cow" joke. I changed that, and he spent the rest of the night telling it to people who obviously already knew. It was rather amusing.
So, the next day was the parade; our call time was 8:30, far too early for a Saturday, might I add. We marched down a stretch of Fourth Street before turning to the right down some street a little past Cherry. At the bottom of the hill, there was a bridge, under which our buses waited. I drew one major conclusion from this parade experience, and it was this: It is more fun to watch people watching a parade (as you're marching in the parade) than it is to watch a parade. On that note, I'll sign off.
That Friday was an interesting and fabulous day for many reasons. It was the day of our Fall Fest, so all of our classes were shortened by ten minutes, and at the end of seventh period, we were released onto the campus to visit the various booths that had been set up. It was very much like the fair in that all of the sold merchandise was overpriced, and I ended up getting birthday cake flavored ice cream for a total of nearly-worth-it $3.00. Saoirshe and I mainly wandered around and tried to find places where there weren't so many people; among others we ran into Elizabeth and Elisabeth, who kept informing us of the craziness of one booth down the hill which was becoming immensely popular; one paid a certain amount of money at the booth to have their friend incarcerated in a tiny dog gate which was erected beside the booth; in order for the incarcerated friend to escape "jail," there had to be an offering of money equal to the amount spent to put them in the "jail." Sadly, this was probably the booth which raised the most money.
When the 3:40 bell rang to signal the end of the day, I said goodbye to Saoirshe and Katelyn and hurried up to the arts building for marching band practice. People were still scattered around campus, and so the band room was fairly empty when I got there.
While we waited for people to arrive, Mitch and Alleyah decided to use the temple blocks for a word association game which was much like the famed "Concentration," except that you had to respond directly to the last word said. Among those who participated were Mitch and Alleyah (obviously), myself, Virginia, Laura, and a few dancing boot girls who wandered in. This amusing game lasted for about ten minutes before Mr. James, who was pushing chairs around, said "O.K. No more word association."
People gradually began to filter in, and we ran "America the Beautiful," and "The Star-Spangled Banner" before we took the former outside to march it around the auditorium. The last latecomers scrambled into their respective places in line as we marched.
After we were done rehearsing, we were instructed to load our instruments onto the trailer before the food arrived. We did this and still had time to wander around before the ordered pizza was set up in the hallway outside of the band room. While we waited, we mostly hung around outside, some of us playing football down by the main building and others just mingling near the bleachers. I joined a group of people that included Carrie and Virginia who were constructing a leafpile on the grass near the arts building; we kicked the leaves into the center until the pile was about waist high. Then, we lined up beside it, preparing to jump in, when suddenly Reid came out of nowhere and ran through it. Then, Virginia laid down in the leaf pile and people began to cover her with the scattered leaves. Someone took a picture of her, and then it was decided that it would be hilarious to have Virginia jump out at Yanal from the leaf pile.
Carrie and I ran around to the side of the building, where Yanal, Vipul, and Mike were messing around with the temple blocks; Yanal refused to accompany us around the building, but we persuaded Vipul to come in his place. We told him to admire the leaf pile, and he made to jump in it as Virginia simultaneously emerged. Thankfully, Virginia wasn't crushed, and it was quite amusing. Shortly after this, the pizza arrived, we ate (discussing various songs that we had learned in Spanish class while we waited in line), and then we boarded the buses to go to the game.
The game was at home. One of the more eventful parts of the night happened during halftime, when a group of us were standing together near the drum-line's section. George Bailey, a former student, had come to visit and was there also. I arrived as jokes were being exchanged, including the infamous humpback whale joke, the punch-line of which is a long, drawn-out noise that is supposed to resemble the noise that a humpback whale makes (Carrie had not heard this joke yet).
I then shared the "Supplies!" joke which was received poorly by all except for Vipul, who seemed to think it was funny; I then discovered that he had never heard the "Interrupting Cow" joke. I changed that, and he spent the rest of the night telling it to people who obviously already knew. It was rather amusing.
So, the next day was the parade; our call time was 8:30, far too early for a Saturday, might I add. We marched down a stretch of Fourth Street before turning to the right down some street a little past Cherry. At the bottom of the hill, there was a bridge, under which our buses waited. I drew one major conclusion from this parade experience, and it was this: It is more fun to watch people watching a parade (as you're marching in the parade) than it is to watch a parade. On that note, I'll sign off.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Lord of the Rings Dream and Other News
I'll speak of the dream first, before I lose even more memory of it. I dreamt that I somehow came into possession of this golden sword, which for some reason stood in the place of the "one ring to rule them all." I did not know this at first; I think that I bought this sword somewhere on a whim, and was wondering why it was so cheap as I walked home holding it.
Well, I returned to the house that I seemed to be sharing with my parents and several other people, including a few members of the marching band and some of my parents' friends/coworkers. In any case, there were lots of people who seemed to form my fellowship of sorts.
When I returned to the house, I was immediately scolded by my dad for being in possession of this sword.
"Please tell me you didn't buy that." he said as I walked up onto the porch (the house was completely different from my father's or my mother's house).
Assuming that he was worried about the price, I said, "Well, it was only $x -"
He waved his hand impatiently, "That's not the point." he snapped. "The point is that we can't stay here now because the Nazgul will be pursuing us."
My dream self didn't seem to grasp this, so I said, "Well, can't I return it, then?"
"No. They wouldn't take it back and that's why it cost so little." he said (seeing as the sword didn't seem to be all that great besides the fact that it was being pursued by wraiths, I don't get why we couldn't have just left the sword somewhere, but that didn't seem like an option in the dream).
"Come on," he gestured inside, "Let's go in and figure out where we're going to go tonight."
Inside the house, my mother called everyone to gather around the dining room table; I placed the sword in the center of the table and there was a collective gasp from all of those present.
Mr. James, who happened to be there along with Mr. Talbert, pulled a map from his jacket pocked and spread it over part of the table. This map was weird because it featured both cities from North Carolina and also places in Middle Earth.
"So here's Mordor, and that's where the Nazgul will be coming from," Mr. James pointed out Mordor on the map, which seemed to occupy a great part of Virginia. He moved his finger almost due south through three cities before his finger landed on Winston-Salem. "Tonight the Nazgul (who, for those of you who aren't Lord of the Rings nerds, are the 9 dead kings who sort of look like dementors in the movies) will travel South through these cities: Bree, Kernersville, and Bywater, and will be upon us by midnight. They will assume that we are here because they will be drawn to the power of the sword, so we must move before nightfall."
My Aunt Karen suggested that it would be ideal for us to move to the west, into the mountains and toward the western border of North Carolina. "That way," she said, "we can continue North as they're pursuing us, and rid ourselves of the sword in the fires of Mount Doom."
Everyone seemed to agree that it was a good plan, and so we all dispersed to gather necessities to take with us.
Once this had been done, we met as a group on the sidewalk in front of the house; there were two charter buses waiting for us, the kind that we use for traveling marching band events. Mr. James drove one bus and my dad's friend Daniel drove the other. I forget which bus I was on, but I remember feeling extremely anxious from that point onward, despite the fact that we were riding on buses and the Nazgul were riding on horses.
I woke up right about when we reached the house that we would be staying in that night.
The only other piece of news that I have is that I am now an official cell phone owner. Yay-hooray for Robyn keeping up with the times!
Well, I returned to the house that I seemed to be sharing with my parents and several other people, including a few members of the marching band and some of my parents' friends/coworkers. In any case, there were lots of people who seemed to form my fellowship of sorts.
When I returned to the house, I was immediately scolded by my dad for being in possession of this sword.
"Please tell me you didn't buy that." he said as I walked up onto the porch (the house was completely different from my father's or my mother's house).
Assuming that he was worried about the price, I said, "Well, it was only $x -"
He waved his hand impatiently, "That's not the point." he snapped. "The point is that we can't stay here now because the Nazgul will be pursuing us."
My dream self didn't seem to grasp this, so I said, "Well, can't I return it, then?"
"No. They wouldn't take it back and that's why it cost so little." he said (seeing as the sword didn't seem to be all that great besides the fact that it was being pursued by wraiths, I don't get why we couldn't have just left the sword somewhere, but that didn't seem like an option in the dream).
"Come on," he gestured inside, "Let's go in and figure out where we're going to go tonight."
Inside the house, my mother called everyone to gather around the dining room table; I placed the sword in the center of the table and there was a collective gasp from all of those present.
Mr. James, who happened to be there along with Mr. Talbert, pulled a map from his jacket pocked and spread it over part of the table. This map was weird because it featured both cities from North Carolina and also places in Middle Earth.
"So here's Mordor, and that's where the Nazgul will be coming from," Mr. James pointed out Mordor on the map, which seemed to occupy a great part of Virginia. He moved his finger almost due south through three cities before his finger landed on Winston-Salem. "Tonight the Nazgul (who, for those of you who aren't Lord of the Rings nerds, are the 9 dead kings who sort of look like dementors in the movies) will travel South through these cities: Bree, Kernersville, and Bywater, and will be upon us by midnight. They will assume that we are here because they will be drawn to the power of the sword, so we must move before nightfall."
My Aunt Karen suggested that it would be ideal for us to move to the west, into the mountains and toward the western border of North Carolina. "That way," she said, "we can continue North as they're pursuing us, and rid ourselves of the sword in the fires of Mount Doom."
Everyone seemed to agree that it was a good plan, and so we all dispersed to gather necessities to take with us.
Once this had been done, we met as a group on the sidewalk in front of the house; there were two charter buses waiting for us, the kind that we use for traveling marching band events. Mr. James drove one bus and my dad's friend Daniel drove the other. I forget which bus I was on, but I remember feeling extremely anxious from that point onward, despite the fact that we were riding on buses and the Nazgul were riding on horses.
I woke up right about when we reached the house that we would be staying in that night.
The only other piece of news that I have is that I am now an official cell phone owner. Yay-hooray for Robyn keeping up with the times!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
West vs. Reynolds
This past Friday, the two undefeated teams participated in the game that was called the WXII 12 game of the week; and what a game it was.
We decided that we were not going to do our halftime show for this game, so we left Charles Voltaire and Ol' Bessie behind. Also, the drum line was missing Joe and David, so Vipul took the quads and Izzie and I shared the third bass (she took it for the first half and I took it for the last half). Izzie did not take the cymbals, saying that she did not know where they were.
We arrived early at the game and were given time to purchase dinner, since it wasn't provided at the school. Then, the game began. Nobody scored in the first quarter, and Reynolds could tell from the start that it would be a difficult game, owing to the fact that the referees were extremely biased, calling us on exaggerated offenses like "delay of game" and other such things. Also, the the tension between the two sides of the stadium began to mount from the moment we marched in; when the drumline marched in, Vipul was having issues with the quads and someone allegedly shouted, "Go ahead and cry!" or something like that.
Anyways, some of us lost hope in the second quarter when West gained three points, and we were disappointed when, by halftime, they had gained a total of nine points.
During halftime, our dancers and West's dancers got together and performed the dance from "Thriller," which was sort of interesting to watch.
However, everything changed in the fourth and final quarter. With five minutes to go, Reynolds pulled up alongside West, scoring seven points. West was in possession until the last minute of the game, when we were making advances across the field toward our touch-down area (we were struggling from one set of downs to the next, hindered by a guy from West who kept blocking all of our passes). Finally, in the last thirty-six seconds of the game, one of our guys broke through the defenses and scored the touch-down that won us the game. Mr. James had us play our Fight Song five times in a row before our alma mater. The rowdies all rushed onto the field to congratulate our players and we left the stadium at the height of glory.
We decided that we were not going to do our halftime show for this game, so we left Charles Voltaire and Ol' Bessie behind. Also, the drum line was missing Joe and David, so Vipul took the quads and Izzie and I shared the third bass (she took it for the first half and I took it for the last half). Izzie did not take the cymbals, saying that she did not know where they were.
We arrived early at the game and were given time to purchase dinner, since it wasn't provided at the school. Then, the game began. Nobody scored in the first quarter, and Reynolds could tell from the start that it would be a difficult game, owing to the fact that the referees were extremely biased, calling us on exaggerated offenses like "delay of game" and other such things. Also, the the tension between the two sides of the stadium began to mount from the moment we marched in; when the drumline marched in, Vipul was having issues with the quads and someone allegedly shouted, "Go ahead and cry!" or something like that.
Anyways, some of us lost hope in the second quarter when West gained three points, and we were disappointed when, by halftime, they had gained a total of nine points.
During halftime, our dancers and West's dancers got together and performed the dance from "Thriller," which was sort of interesting to watch.
However, everything changed in the fourth and final quarter. With five minutes to go, Reynolds pulled up alongside West, scoring seven points. West was in possession until the last minute of the game, when we were making advances across the field toward our touch-down area (we were struggling from one set of downs to the next, hindered by a guy from West who kept blocking all of our passes). Finally, in the last thirty-six seconds of the game, one of our guys broke through the defenses and scored the touch-down that won us the game. Mr. James had us play our Fight Song five times in a row before our alma mater. The rowdies all rushed onto the field to congratulate our players and we left the stadium at the height of glory.
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