I don't know why I quit posting these on here, since they were some of my favorite entries to write. Every now and then I have a vivid memory of something seemingly trivial from childhood and I like to record it so that I can say, "Wow, that was quite a significant part of the former moi," because one thing that I've observed from these is how important the trivial thing is in retrospect.
Today, I went to Brynn's frozen yogurt with Anna from the youth group, and we had a really nice chat outdoors before the storm arrived. I had had a bad day due to a persistent headache and an epic fail that I performed in trying to reason with one of my friends. However, we were discussing things of the past via Harry Potter and other things; eventually we came to the topic of bikers in the road. I mentioned how, whenever I encounter a biker in front of me in the road, I pass them in the center lane even though one is not supposed to pass in the center lane. Anna mentioned that she had forgotten about the existence of those signs, which read, "Do Not Pass in Center Lane," and that she always mindlessly used the center lane to pass bikers as well.
To which I responded that this particular traffic sign was one of the first things that I can remember reading in my early literate years. As a three and four year old, I gained a certain amount of pride from chanting, "DO NOT PASS IN CENTER LANE," whenever we passed one of these signs on Country Club Road (which we traveled often, given its close proximity to our old house). I would even holler at my parents when they merged into the lane to turn left, which is of course what it is used for, but I didn't know that at the time - I was under the impression that they were bending the traffic regulations, which to a child have the weight of absolute law behind them.
So, yay-hooray for traffic signs, which encourage literacy!
Monday, May 23, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
All that can be said about something like that is. . ."Oh my, oh my."
Walking along a city street
with a weary smile and eyes trained to seek distress,
a hand ready to extend and yield God's greatest solace
in the form of flesh on flesh
For gripping hands are surely the venue
wherein two brothers' souls will mesh
How do you stand apart from others,
Oh, acknowledged sage and elder brother?
Is it the darkness which pools beneath your eyes in light
where gather memories of men in mankind's night?
What madness made them hurt you, brother?
A century past and I shun my ancestors
like discarded villain comic book characters
I cannot understand them; they were not men, but some
animal inflicted by disease -
and time was most cruel to you - it enveloped your stars in its chasmic arms
and crushed them at once to silver bits
and it stretched you in hunger, by the arms and legs
until the image that it sought was complete, one which haunts me to the day:
A picture of a walking skeleton with jutting ribs
and tormented eyes - such a tortured death within them,
Of the self, and of love, and finally the death of God in muffled praise.
How do you stand apart from others
Oh acknowledged sage and elder brother?
Is it the darkness which pools beneath your eyes in light
where gather memories of men in mankind's night?
with a weary smile and eyes trained to seek distress,
a hand ready to extend and yield God's greatest solace
in the form of flesh on flesh
For gripping hands are surely the venue
wherein two brothers' souls will mesh
How do you stand apart from others,
Oh, acknowledged sage and elder brother?
Is it the darkness which pools beneath your eyes in light
where gather memories of men in mankind's night?
What madness made them hurt you, brother?
A century past and I shun my ancestors
like discarded villain comic book characters
I cannot understand them; they were not men, but some
animal inflicted by disease -
and time was most cruel to you - it enveloped your stars in its chasmic arms
and crushed them at once to silver bits
and it stretched you in hunger, by the arms and legs
until the image that it sought was complete, one which haunts me to the day:
A picture of a walking skeleton with jutting ribs
and tormented eyes - such a tortured death within them,
Of the self, and of love, and finally the death of God in muffled praise.
How do you stand apart from others
Oh acknowledged sage and elder brother?
Is it the darkness which pools beneath your eyes in light
where gather memories of men in mankind's night?
Saturday, May 21, 2011
The End of the World, the Pastoral Symphony, and Aaron's Party
This is a belated post, because the last two events mentioned in the title happened last weekend - but you've got to hand it to me; I chose quite a date on which to be fashionably late. We are all still here on Earth - I texted Aaron to make sure that he had not ascended (he had not) - and I dined with my mom this morning (at Chili's), and I think that she is quite saint-like, and she had not ascended either. I feel bad for the people who have to take down all of those billboards.
Starting last weekend: it was an exciting weekend because of Aaron's gain of 16 years and the Pastoral Symphony of Beethoven, which is my favorite of the 9 and which was the first Beethoven symphony that I had ever seen in concert. So, on Saturday evening, after my mom and I had visited that grandfather of mine in Durham (we attended to all of the usual traditions by going to the Golden Corral, etc), I was dropped off at Aaron's place at 7:00, dressed as Professor McGonagall (I was going to dress up as Ludwig van Beethoven, but that would have required a lot of hairspray and I didn't feel like doing that to my hair, especially because we were warned beforehand that we would be near to an open fire). I met a ton of lovely West folk, with whom I am now friends on Facebook. For the first part of the party, we mainly hung out down in the basement, listening to a lovely playlist which had some Regina Spektor and some Owl City and some other things - I socialized with Ms. Alexis, as it had been a while since we had last hung out (she had arrived early to put up all of the beautiful red streamers and other decor). Once other people started to arrive, we decided that we ought to go outside to play a game of Quidditch, in spite of the fact that it rained and the grass was all wet. Well, it was, but I was able to remove my shoes and make do. I was a Chaser on the Gryffinpuff team along with Aaron, and the Snitch was Ryan. Our Seeker was Sahar and the other team's Seeker was Egla (I think). After Aaron explained the rules to everyone, we lined up near our goal posts, preparing to charge the balls in the center of the field. Jamie hollered "Gryffinpuff!" obnoxiously and Haley shouted back, "Slytherclaw!" Ryan got a 15 second head-start, and then we were off. I must say, it was one of the most brutal sports that I have ever played. Gryffinpuff, unfortunately, lost all three of the games, but the other team did have a slight advantage in their numbers. After Quidditch, Aaron opened his gifts and proposed to people. Then, we ate some cake and danced to the music. Finally, we watched "Tangled," which I had never seen before - just as the movie was ending, that mother of mine arrived and I had to leave, but it was an amazing movie and an amazing evening.
The next day, I went to church and sang this anthem which was written by a woman who became a member of our church that day (she got up and gave a speech and everything; she had been a member when she was a little girl, but then she traveled all over the place to Berlin and other places far away). Afterwards, we ate at the new Breakfast of Course restaurant which is downtown, and after that, my dad said that we had a surprise at 3:00 (I knew that this surprise was the concert, because I had told him earlier in the week that the concert on Sunday was at 3:00). Right around three, we piled into the car and drove over to the Stevens Center, where we had a seat in the center of the balcony, close to the railing - it was a perfect view of the entire orchestra, moving together. This was particularly interesting with the Pastoral, because the music moves in waves (particularly in the first two movements) and you could literally watch the melody progress from the low strings to the high woodwinds. Maestro Moody took the third movement at the perfect tempo (I've found that lots of people like to take the "Merry Meeting of Country Folk" way too slow, like it's the merry meeting of old country folk), and of the entire symphony, the 4th movement, "Rainstorm," was absolutely phenomenal. You can pick up so much more of it live than in a recording, because on a CD, it is usually too quiet to hear the more intricate interwoven harmonies. You could hear it perfectly from the beginning, however, and at the first climax, the whole music hall exploded - the strings were zooming up and down, the timpani man was jamming, and the orchestra moved sharply together with each of the simulated lightning bolts. I nearly cried, it was so awesome. Then the Hindemith was also swell, and our overture (which was chosen by the audience!) was the overture to the "Barber of Seville" by Rossini.
In any case, it was an amazing weekend - and the following week was pretty swell too. Forgive me for any grammatical incorrectness, because I had to write this post in the space of about 10 minutes so that I could actually do some homework. That's all I have to say about that.
Starting last weekend: it was an exciting weekend because of Aaron's gain of 16 years and the Pastoral Symphony of Beethoven, which is my favorite of the 9 and which was the first Beethoven symphony that I had ever seen in concert. So, on Saturday evening, after my mom and I had visited that grandfather of mine in Durham (we attended to all of the usual traditions by going to the Golden Corral, etc), I was dropped off at Aaron's place at 7:00, dressed as Professor McGonagall (I was going to dress up as Ludwig van Beethoven, but that would have required a lot of hairspray and I didn't feel like doing that to my hair, especially because we were warned beforehand that we would be near to an open fire). I met a ton of lovely West folk, with whom I am now friends on Facebook. For the first part of the party, we mainly hung out down in the basement, listening to a lovely playlist which had some Regina Spektor and some Owl City and some other things - I socialized with Ms. Alexis, as it had been a while since we had last hung out (she had arrived early to put up all of the beautiful red streamers and other decor). Once other people started to arrive, we decided that we ought to go outside to play a game of Quidditch, in spite of the fact that it rained and the grass was all wet. Well, it was, but I was able to remove my shoes and make do. I was a Chaser on the Gryffinpuff team along with Aaron, and the Snitch was Ryan. Our Seeker was Sahar and the other team's Seeker was Egla (I think). After Aaron explained the rules to everyone, we lined up near our goal posts, preparing to charge the balls in the center of the field. Jamie hollered "Gryffinpuff!" obnoxiously and Haley shouted back, "Slytherclaw!" Ryan got a 15 second head-start, and then we were off. I must say, it was one of the most brutal sports that I have ever played. Gryffinpuff, unfortunately, lost all three of the games, but the other team did have a slight advantage in their numbers. After Quidditch, Aaron opened his gifts and proposed to people. Then, we ate some cake and danced to the music. Finally, we watched "Tangled," which I had never seen before - just as the movie was ending, that mother of mine arrived and I had to leave, but it was an amazing movie and an amazing evening.
The next day, I went to church and sang this anthem which was written by a woman who became a member of our church that day (she got up and gave a speech and everything; she had been a member when she was a little girl, but then she traveled all over the place to Berlin and other places far away). Afterwards, we ate at the new Breakfast of Course restaurant which is downtown, and after that, my dad said that we had a surprise at 3:00 (I knew that this surprise was the concert, because I had told him earlier in the week that the concert on Sunday was at 3:00). Right around three, we piled into the car and drove over to the Stevens Center, where we had a seat in the center of the balcony, close to the railing - it was a perfect view of the entire orchestra, moving together. This was particularly interesting with the Pastoral, because the music moves in waves (particularly in the first two movements) and you could literally watch the melody progress from the low strings to the high woodwinds. Maestro Moody took the third movement at the perfect tempo (I've found that lots of people like to take the "Merry Meeting of Country Folk" way too slow, like it's the merry meeting of old country folk), and of the entire symphony, the 4th movement, "Rainstorm," was absolutely phenomenal. You can pick up so much more of it live than in a recording, because on a CD, it is usually too quiet to hear the more intricate interwoven harmonies. You could hear it perfectly from the beginning, however, and at the first climax, the whole music hall exploded - the strings were zooming up and down, the timpani man was jamming, and the orchestra moved sharply together with each of the simulated lightning bolts. I nearly cried, it was so awesome. Then the Hindemith was also swell, and our overture (which was chosen by the audience!) was the overture to the "Barber of Seville" by Rossini.
In any case, it was an amazing weekend - and the following week was pretty swell too. Forgive me for any grammatical incorrectness, because I had to write this post in the space of about 10 minutes so that I could actually do some homework. That's all I have to say about that.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Choir was Replaced by a Stork
So, I've come on to report the eventful happenings of yesterday, Wednesday. Because it was the Wednesday after Easter, Dr. Dodds decided that it would be good to give the choir a rest after all of the preparation for the Handel stuff that we did all through Holy Week (we never did end up doing "Worthy is the Lamb," though, which was kind of sad, but "Hallelujah" was a lot of fun). So, this Sunday, we're all going to sing "Holy Art Thou," which is another Handel song that the choir has already done, and it is absolutely gorgeous - in fact, I found it on Youtube with Andreas Scholl (who is an angel) singing it, and in Italian it is "Ombra Mai Fu," and it is about a pretty tree. I stumbled across this recording quite accidentally, but when I found it, I said, "Oh! We've sung this before, but it was not called 'Ombra Mai Fu,' but 'Holy art Thou,'" and so on.
I am also rereading one of my favorite books ever by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr: Breakfast of Champions. I have already done an extensive review of it on here, and therefore I shall not discuss it further.
Anyways, yesterday was an interesting day - I attired myself in my semi-renaissance poofy-sleeved dress with the orange ribbon (I'm slowly gaining a monopoly on the hair ribbon) and was dropped off at school by Heather. I felt sort of bad about this, because she usually leaves for work around the same time that I leave for school, but this morning she was still in bed when I entered the room to fetch Lancy and say good-bye to that father of mine. However, she insisted on getting up and accompanying me downstairs, where we cheerfully chatted over my quick breakfast of grapes. I stuffed some stuff in my lunch box, and we were off! Since I had spent the last two mornings in Dr. Moss' room, I figured I wouldn't bother him that morning, and so I loitered in the library for a while, reading Breakfast of Champions and discussing A.P. French with a comrade who is currently in my French class, Anna Spencer. She's going to governor school this summer to study French, and so I told her that she should definitely do A.P. next year.
The rest of the day passed in its usual flow of things - we worked on our All Quiet on the Western Front test in English, we had a substitute in dance class (and so we choreographed the last part of one of our Elvis songs), we did our national conventions in Civics class (so we got to show our Libertas Vitae commercial with the Nietszche camel quote and what-not), I sat with Sarah, Kiki, and Truman Capote at lunch, we played the new song that I hate in band class, I did some math, and then we did some stuff in French. However, toward the end of French class, Sarah and I were watching the time because we had the Student of the Year ceremony to go to - she had been picked by Frau Woloshyn (I just murdered the spelling) and I had been picked by my chemistry teacher Mr. Bragg (this had shocked me enough by itself because I never thought that I was all that great at Chemistry). We all congregated in the cafeteria, and Mr. Bragg and I mostly talked about music while we waited for the ceremony to begin. Apparently he used to play the viola and the bass. And he also figured out who had stolen the street sign which read "Gauntlet Drive" and put it in his yard. Of course, it was Brett and Sebass. Who else could it have been (it shall be immensely sad when the two of them go off to college, because nothing crazy will ever happen at the school - they are like the Weasley twins)?
In any case, we did the ceremony, and then I sauntered on home and had some serious piano action for about an hour and a half because I knew that once Hope got home, I would not have a chance to play the piano. When Hope came home, I felt sort of tired and not really up to frolicking around and trying to emanate good cheer, but I accompanied her outside to watch her ride her bike around the driveway. She wanted me to be the announcer for the bicycle competition, and so I said things like, "Here come the bikers, racing around the track - only ten seconds left on the clock - Ten! Nine! Eight! And Hopey Brafford wins!!!!"
Just as my voice cracked like that of a pre-teen boy, my dad stepped out into the screened porch area and called to us, "The boss beckons," or something like that. So we ambled on indoors to where Heather was sitting behind the computer at the desk. Now, the last time that we had entered this sort of scene, it was sometime in late November, and Heather had "received an emailed video from Santa Claus in the North Pole" which was addressed to Hope (it's this really neat website where you can customize a video for one of your kids so that the "Santa Claus" man is addressing the child. I did one for my mom and she loved it). So I figured that it would be a similar sort of thing this time, perhaps with an Easter bunny or something. So I scooched behind the counter and Hope sat on Heather's lap.
But on the screen, there was the video of a sonogram.
Heather pointed at it and said, "Hopey, what's that?"
I think that Hope knew what it was, but she said, "A kitty!"
Heather said, "No, it's not a kitty -" and then Hope tried to cover her tracks by saying, "Not a kitty! A kiddy! Like a kid!"
And then Heather asked, "Where is it?"
Hope matter-of-factly pointed to her stomach.
So, there was a moment in which general excitement was exchanged, and then it was established that Hope would talk of nothing else for the next 24 hours or so (that is still holding true, in fact: we were discussing baby names over dinner). As we left the desk to eat a celebratory dinner at Burke Street Pizza, I gave my dad a hug and told him, "You did good. Real good." And he was pleased.
I am also rereading one of my favorite books ever by Kurt Vonnegut, Jr: Breakfast of Champions. I have already done an extensive review of it on here, and therefore I shall not discuss it further.
Anyways, yesterday was an interesting day - I attired myself in my semi-renaissance poofy-sleeved dress with the orange ribbon (I'm slowly gaining a monopoly on the hair ribbon) and was dropped off at school by Heather. I felt sort of bad about this, because she usually leaves for work around the same time that I leave for school, but this morning she was still in bed when I entered the room to fetch Lancy and say good-bye to that father of mine. However, she insisted on getting up and accompanying me downstairs, where we cheerfully chatted over my quick breakfast of grapes. I stuffed some stuff in my lunch box, and we were off! Since I had spent the last two mornings in Dr. Moss' room, I figured I wouldn't bother him that morning, and so I loitered in the library for a while, reading Breakfast of Champions and discussing A.P. French with a comrade who is currently in my French class, Anna Spencer. She's going to governor school this summer to study French, and so I told her that she should definitely do A.P. next year.
The rest of the day passed in its usual flow of things - we worked on our All Quiet on the Western Front test in English, we had a substitute in dance class (and so we choreographed the last part of one of our Elvis songs), we did our national conventions in Civics class (so we got to show our Libertas Vitae commercial with the Nietszche camel quote and what-not), I sat with Sarah, Kiki, and Truman Capote at lunch, we played the new song that I hate in band class, I did some math, and then we did some stuff in French. However, toward the end of French class, Sarah and I were watching the time because we had the Student of the Year ceremony to go to - she had been picked by Frau Woloshyn (I just murdered the spelling) and I had been picked by my chemistry teacher Mr. Bragg (this had shocked me enough by itself because I never thought that I was all that great at Chemistry). We all congregated in the cafeteria, and Mr. Bragg and I mostly talked about music while we waited for the ceremony to begin. Apparently he used to play the viola and the bass. And he also figured out who had stolen the street sign which read "Gauntlet Drive" and put it in his yard. Of course, it was Brett and Sebass. Who else could it have been (it shall be immensely sad when the two of them go off to college, because nothing crazy will ever happen at the school - they are like the Weasley twins)?
In any case, we did the ceremony, and then I sauntered on home and had some serious piano action for about an hour and a half because I knew that once Hope got home, I would not have a chance to play the piano. When Hope came home, I felt sort of tired and not really up to frolicking around and trying to emanate good cheer, but I accompanied her outside to watch her ride her bike around the driveway. She wanted me to be the announcer for the bicycle competition, and so I said things like, "Here come the bikers, racing around the track - only ten seconds left on the clock - Ten! Nine! Eight! And Hopey Brafford wins!!!!"
Just as my voice cracked like that of a pre-teen boy, my dad stepped out into the screened porch area and called to us, "The boss beckons," or something like that. So we ambled on indoors to where Heather was sitting behind the computer at the desk. Now, the last time that we had entered this sort of scene, it was sometime in late November, and Heather had "received an emailed video from Santa Claus in the North Pole" which was addressed to Hope (it's this really neat website where you can customize a video for one of your kids so that the "Santa Claus" man is addressing the child. I did one for my mom and she loved it). So I figured that it would be a similar sort of thing this time, perhaps with an Easter bunny or something. So I scooched behind the counter and Hope sat on Heather's lap.
But on the screen, there was the video of a sonogram.
Heather pointed at it and said, "Hopey, what's that?"
I think that Hope knew what it was, but she said, "A kitty!"
Heather said, "No, it's not a kitty -" and then Hope tried to cover her tracks by saying, "Not a kitty! A kiddy! Like a kid!"
And then Heather asked, "Where is it?"
Hope matter-of-factly pointed to her stomach.
So, there was a moment in which general excitement was exchanged, and then it was established that Hope would talk of nothing else for the next 24 hours or so (that is still holding true, in fact: we were discussing baby names over dinner). As we left the desk to eat a celebratory dinner at Burke Street Pizza, I gave my dad a hug and told him, "You did good. Real good." And he was pleased.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Florida, Les Miserables, and stuff. . .
I'll go ahead and vocalize what everyone is thinking now: "Shame, shame, Robyn! Thou hast entirely neglected the month of February - thou hast deprived all future generations of viddying what happened in February 2011." But I have a response to your accusations in Old English and droog-speak: I've had a difficult time remembering my dreams as of late, and I've been occupied with a monstrous French project, with a monstrous Civics and Economics project (which is still going on), and with the beast of a book by Monsieur Hugo, Les Miserables, which was fanstastic, by the way. If you decide to read it, go all out and read the unabridged version. . .the Waterloo part is enormously interesting (I had to go back and read it, because I skipped it earlier in order to be caught up with the rest of the class for a quiz on a later part of the book. . .again, shame on me), as is the life story of the Bishop of Digne, as well as other things which were cut out in the abridged and/or Wrap-it-up-Victor-Hugo version of the book. At the end of the book, my two favorite characters still have not changed. I will always adore the Bishop, and I also love Monsieur Gillenormand, the grandfather of Marius. In fact, it took me a while to actually appreciate Marius as a character. For the longest time, I thought that he was dreadfully flat, but his inner devotion to his father, and, eventually, his love for Cosette finally animate him. De toute facon, de retourner au sujet de M. Gillenormand: He's a very quirky, crochety old man - a devout supporter of the monarchy and Old France. He hates revolutions, and he hollers at anyone near him when he reads the newspapers. I love him. . .I don't know why. It would be so neat to be able to talk to Victor Hugo about all of his characters; they're all so round and so. . .human - three cheers for good characterization! Chapeau, Victor Hugo!
So, now to February happenings. . .there was Valentine's day. I don't recall doing anything in particular on that day. Oh wait! Lancy and I took a romantic walk around the park to celebrate the holiday. The choir resumed its rehearsals in preparation for Holy Week, which shall be in late April, I believe. We're singing a couple of songs from the "Messiah," like "Surely He hath Borne our Griefs," "And With His Stripes," "All We Like Sheep," "Hallelujah," and the one which is currently stuck in my head, "Worthy is the Lamb." That Handel fellow was really quite the Baroque-and-roller. On the 8th of March, Alexis and I went to see an old film on the big screen, "Swing Time." It was a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie, and it was excellent - I printed out the sheet music from one of the songs, and I love to play it in half-time. I just had a great time and hope that we can hang out again soon! My birthday was also quite swell. I had a few school friends over in the afternoon after school (I skipped), and we hung around the house for a while before leaving to go to dinner at the Olive Garden. Unfortunately, we weren't the only people with this idea, and so we got stuck waiting for an hour - but we passed the time by wandering around the mall, where we avoided being arrested by the youth-hating Javerts of the garde-du-centre-commercial by speaking in sophisticated British accents (Aaron's idea) and crowding around Chloe, who must have seemed to the garde to be our youthful mother or aunt. The mall, by the way, apparently now has a black-light golf course. . .why? I don't know.
In any case, we all ate dinner and returned to the house that night (earlier in the day, when my mom and I ate at Pancho Villas, she told our waiter, "My daughter's turning 16 today and she loves sombreros." I was then publicly humiliated). At the house, the Keegan sisters Saoirse and Kiki joined us for a showing of "Paper Moon" which was never finished due to the necessity to have girl-talk about halfway through the film. Then, Aaron and the Keegans had to eventually leave, and the other two girls spent the night and left in the morning. Tonight, I am very excited because tomorrow is the day that we pack and prepare to leave to go to Florida for a little over a week. I shall get to see my grandma T. as well as the grandparents on my father's side; I shall sit in their backyard and watch their colony of ducks in the pond behind the house. It shall be warm enough to wade in the ocean. The majority of the greenery will exist in the form of palm trees. We're leaving to go to the airport around 3:00 on Thursday morning. . .I shall be a grumpy girly indeed. I am not made to be awake that early in the morning. However, I am still immensely excited to return to my paradise. And on this note, I shall leave my brethren to go study for the Civics quiz tomorrow.
So, now to February happenings. . .there was Valentine's day. I don't recall doing anything in particular on that day. Oh wait! Lancy and I took a romantic walk around the park to celebrate the holiday. The choir resumed its rehearsals in preparation for Holy Week, which shall be in late April, I believe. We're singing a couple of songs from the "Messiah," like "Surely He hath Borne our Griefs," "And With His Stripes," "All We Like Sheep," "Hallelujah," and the one which is currently stuck in my head, "Worthy is the Lamb." That Handel fellow was really quite the Baroque-and-roller. On the 8th of March, Alexis and I went to see an old film on the big screen, "Swing Time." It was a Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie, and it was excellent - I printed out the sheet music from one of the songs, and I love to play it in half-time. I just had a great time and hope that we can hang out again soon! My birthday was also quite swell. I had a few school friends over in the afternoon after school (I skipped), and we hung around the house for a while before leaving to go to dinner at the Olive Garden. Unfortunately, we weren't the only people with this idea, and so we got stuck waiting for an hour - but we passed the time by wandering around the mall, where we avoided being arrested by the youth-hating Javerts of the garde-du-centre-commercial by speaking in sophisticated British accents (Aaron's idea) and crowding around Chloe, who must have seemed to the garde to be our youthful mother or aunt. The mall, by the way, apparently now has a black-light golf course. . .why? I don't know.
In any case, we all ate dinner and returned to the house that night (earlier in the day, when my mom and I ate at Pancho Villas, she told our waiter, "My daughter's turning 16 today and she loves sombreros." I was then publicly humiliated). At the house, the Keegan sisters Saoirse and Kiki joined us for a showing of "Paper Moon" which was never finished due to the necessity to have girl-talk about halfway through the film. Then, Aaron and the Keegans had to eventually leave, and the other two girls spent the night and left in the morning. Tonight, I am very excited because tomorrow is the day that we pack and prepare to leave to go to Florida for a little over a week. I shall get to see my grandma T. as well as the grandparents on my father's side; I shall sit in their backyard and watch their colony of ducks in the pond behind the house. It shall be warm enough to wade in the ocean. The majority of the greenery will exist in the form of palm trees. We're leaving to go to the airport around 3:00 on Thursday morning. . .I shall be a grumpy girly indeed. I am not made to be awake that early in the morning. However, I am still immensely excited to return to my paradise. And on this note, I shall leave my brethren to go study for the Civics quiz tomorrow.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Steam of Consciousness #3
So. . .I figured that since I don't have enough time to do regular blogging, I'll just play a word association game with myself, staring with my newly-discovered favorite word.
firmament, jello, sky, stars, God, joy, lieder, piano, tenor man, Andrea Bocelli, "Who's coming?" - Christmas, baby, Kalyn, teeth, ice cream, Allen's Dairy Treats, crumbling ceiling tiles, marble, floor, smooth, wind, beach, the ocean on the beach at night, walking barefoot, spring grass, that first day of the year that feels warm in the midst of winter, March, birthday, orange, ribbon, gloves, humming, collie dog, North, Santa Claus, Beethoven's 12th and 13th Sonatas, sheet music flowers, don't cut up the Beethoven, "No, Hopey, that's not Beethoven - that's another pianist guy, Glenn Gould," Murray Perahia the pianist, Murray Perahia the elephant, Leonard Bernstein the tiger, Leonard Bernstein the conductor, Karajan lion/conductor, Symphony 6 conducted by the Berlin Philharmonic, Lancy, baby, trumpet, brassy, jazz, Shostakovitch, Mr. James, Gustav Holst, gun, cannon, Tchaikovsky, gorgeousness, a hand counting from five down to our entrace at the finale, Liszt transcription, ornaments, mordents, Baroque squigglies, baroque-and-roll, Don McLean's "American Pie," being a little kid, Bob Dylan, wizard, unassuming genius.
firmament, jello, sky, stars, God, joy, lieder, piano, tenor man, Andrea Bocelli, "Who's coming?" - Christmas, baby, Kalyn, teeth, ice cream, Allen's Dairy Treats, crumbling ceiling tiles, marble, floor, smooth, wind, beach, the ocean on the beach at night, walking barefoot, spring grass, that first day of the year that feels warm in the midst of winter, March, birthday, orange, ribbon, gloves, humming, collie dog, North, Santa Claus, Beethoven's 12th and 13th Sonatas, sheet music flowers, don't cut up the Beethoven, "No, Hopey, that's not Beethoven - that's another pianist guy, Glenn Gould," Murray Perahia the pianist, Murray Perahia the elephant, Leonard Bernstein the tiger, Leonard Bernstein the conductor, Karajan lion/conductor, Symphony 6 conducted by the Berlin Philharmonic, Lancy, baby, trumpet, brassy, jazz, Shostakovitch, Mr. James, Gustav Holst, gun, cannon, Tchaikovsky, gorgeousness, a hand counting from five down to our entrace at the finale, Liszt transcription, ornaments, mordents, Baroque squigglies, baroque-and-roll, Don McLean's "American Pie," being a little kid, Bob Dylan, wizard, unassuming genius.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Wintry Mix and Musings of Polarized Emotion Centered Around My Church Recital
So, this is my first post of the new year! I was quite shocked to log on and discover that I have not posted anything between then and now, but I suppose that just shows the fact that most of my classes last year were considered "romper-room" classes by my father, and therefore I had more time to come on and blog about six or seven times a month.
Some words about the New Year: I went over to Shannon's house to celebrate it; it had been several months since we had last hung out (that last time, she, Aaron, Rhaynely, and Chloe accompanied me to the $2 theater, where we watched "Inception"). It was also her cousin Linda's birthday party, and several people slept over. I was on the phone with my mother in the basement stairwell as the ball dropped (which we did not see due to Shannon's current lack of cable - which wasn't a bummer, since that whole tradition has started to lose its glitz), and the people gathered in the general basement area blew on their noise-makers and yelled to cheerfully announce its arrival. That night, we watched "Idiocracy," which is a pretty amusing film, and I quickly fell asleep afterwards.
Since then, not too much has happened. I've driven around in my mom's car and in Heather's car. I've played the piano and the trumpet, and I've eagerly looked forward to the recongregation of the choir, which is supposed to happen in two days. I miss singing with everyone there - in spite of the fact that I do not remember all of their names, I feel a sense of brethrenly belonging when I am with them. When I am with the Sanctuary choir, I am amid my brethren.
Also, the season of midterms (and in the case of block classes like chemistry and Health, final exams) has begun, and has been rudely interrupted by a wintry mix which dropped a lot of snow on the Triad in the mid-afternoon. School was cancelled last night as a precaution, due to the fact that most weather channels predicted that the snow would end up icing up the roads pretty severely. In effect, the snow from today has begun the icing process, and school tomorrow has already been cancelled. The downfall of this is that we missed the review day that we were supposed to have for our math quarter test, and if I want any help from Mrs. Freitag before we take the test, it looks like I'll have to arrive quite early in the morning, as demand for her tutoring will be high.
Now, I believe that I've had dreams between now and then, but the only one that I can really remember involved my mom, Jeff, and I. We were going to go water-skiing or something like that, and so we had to descend into this cramped, moldy shed in order to dig out the necessary equipment. It was a beautiful summery day outside, but as we approached this rickety old shed, I began to have feelings of dread. I knew that I would be ridiculed or reproached if I did not go in to help them dig out the equipment for skiing, but I knew that the shed would be pregnant with colonies of spiders and those nasty jumping crickets that look like spiders. So, Jeff had to wedge open the door with force, and that barely allowed room for us to squeeze inside, where shafts of light fell on the dirt from holes in the rafters. We walked down some creaky wooden stairs which felt as though they might give beneath us. I held my arms protectively across my chest and walked quickly away from the stairs because I had seen a lot of webs in the general area. As I stumbled away I saw that the shed opened onto a marble-tiled, open expanse of floor with a man-made river running through the center. There were stores along the walls and an upper floor with more stores, like at the mall. And the floor was so shiny! and nice! I called out to my mom and Jeff, and they followed me into the open expanse of the mall-area. It was not very crowded; there were some people who sat with their feet dangling into the walled river. I pulled a bag of cinnamon toast crunch from my pocket and began to eat it dry as we walked and looked about in wonder. Suddenly, my mom pointed out a woman with reddish hair who was sitting along the side of the river with a laptop and said, "She's one of my customers; let's go say hi." I lagged along behind, hurriedly trying to put away my cinammon toast crunch. I did not have time to clean off my fingers, however, before the dreaded moment when my mom said, "So-and-so, this is my daughter, Robyn; Robyn, this is So-and-so," and the woman reached out her hand. Because my left hand was occupied with putting away the bag of cinnamon toast crunch, I was forced to shake this woman's hand with my sticky, cinammon-sprinkled right hand. It was easy to observe her disgust. I then woke up.
So, in other news, a couple of nights ago, Stormy and I finally had a Gary Oldman marathon at my house, in which we watched "Bram Stoker's 'Dracula,'" "Immortal Beloved," and part of a movie called "True Romance." We plan to continue it some night so that we can finish the third movie and progress to the Harry Potter and Batman movies. She left at about 12:30 that night, and I quickly went to bed, super-nervous about the following morning, January 9th, when I would be playing the piano for two church services. This oppurtunity was arranged a couple of months ago during the choir season; I happened to be early to a rehearsal, and so I played on the piano for a couple of minutes. When Ms. Moyer arrived, she extended the invitation to do the prelude and offertory sometime in January, and I quickly accepted the invitation. Over the course of December, I narrowed down my choice of what I was going to play to the "Adagio" from Beethoven's "Tempest" Sonata, the "Adagio Cantabile" from his "Pathetique" Sonata, and the 14th Invention of Bach (with her assistance, because I am very self-conscious about my Bach interpretation). So, this past Wednesday, we met at the church after school to work out the problems that I had with the Bach piece; then we progressed to my insecurity with the long series of runs in the "Tempest;" and then we finally decided on upping the tempo a little bit in the "Pathetique" to keep it lively. And then I practiced like mad until Sunday morning, when, after a night of frenzied tossing-and-turning and nightmares of failing epicly, I ate a banana and seven grapes and arrived at the churh at 8:00 to practice. I had bedecked myself in my casual black cotton dress, some leggings, and my gloves (because it was cold outside and I didn't want my hands to be all stiff) and I had brought my book of piano literature in case our organist wanted to go over some spots last-minute. As it turned out, I just spent the next half hour rehearsing on the nice Baldwin piano in the Sanctuary. At about 8:35, Ms. Moyer came in and told me where I could find some water; she also told me that it would be best to start around 8:50. When I came back, I noticed that some people had started to file in, and I continued to practice trouble spots, though I applied the soft pedal so as not to confuse the people into thinking that the prelude had started. At around 8:40, I ran the part of the "Pathetique" that was thick with ornamentation and had it approved by Ms. Moyer. She then warned me that people would probably talk during the prelude and I told her that I was used to playing under such conditions and would be grateful for it in case it covered my mistakes. I watched the red digital clock which was on the wall over the congregation. I breathed deeply. I ran the middle part of the Invention very slowly. There weren't very many people in the congregation and they were sparsely seated. It was 8:48. I perspired, and prayed quickly. I felt a hand on my shoulder and Ms. Moyer told me that I would do fine. Then it was 8:50, and I bobbed for a moment, feeling out a steady, sort of slow tempo. And then I played straight through the Bach, with my biggest error being some inconsistency in the time (speeding a little bit, and then slowing down too much to compensate). Overall, it did not go as horribly as I thought it might. Then, I did the "Tempest," on which I did fine until the long run, which I bungled up in the very middle, though I was quick to go past the error and continue through the run. So, maybe, people didn't notice it too much. I sustained the last B flat for a while, and then I got up and pranced over to sit in a chair behind the organ. I was introduced as a member of the youth and the Sanctuary choir shortly afterward, and my services were not called upon again until the offertory. In between, Mr. Moyer led the singing with his gorgeous tenor voice. There is nothing like a rich tenor voice, in my opinion. Then I did the "Pathetique," and I compensated for any bunglings that might have occured in the "Tempest." This first performance of the "Pathetique" was the best of any of the songs in either service, I think. At the end, I got up and skipped back to my place near the organ. That day, Mike Horne was doing the sermon on the parable of the Prodigal Son, which is always one of my favorite sermons each year, because it so deftly summarizes everything that I believe (or most of it, anyway). We also sang a couple of my favorite hymns. In any case, it was a good service, and a couple of people, including Dr. Daniel and some fellow choir members, came up to me afterward and thanked me for playing, and I awkwardly thanked them for thanking me - and for allowing me to exalt God and my soul and such. After the 9:00 service, they had the incoming deacons and elders give their testimonies, and so I went to the choir room upstairs to practice on the piano that has the blinking light. It has a really light and easy touch but very alien-sounding keys. I did that for about half an hour, went to the bathroom, refilled my cup of water, and returned downstairs, where there were mobs of people all over the Sanctuary, socializing loudly. I supposed that all of the deacons and elders were being congratulated at that point. Just as I mounted the stage, I saw my dad, Heather, and Hope walk in and I waved goofily at them. I was slightly cocky at that point due to the fact that the noise was so loud that no one would probably notice any of my mistakes; and so, when the time came at 10:50 to start the prelude, I did the inverse of the previous service. I bludgeoned the Bach and surprised myself with the lack of failure at the "Tempest" sonata (afterwards, my dad told me that, while I messed up the Bach, I did not stop or make it obvious that I messed up, which is a good thing). After the prelude, Dr. White asked the congregation to applaud, and it was awkward. And then, the "Pathetique" during that service also went well, though I got overexcited at the climax of the piece and pounded on the keys a bit too hard. Shortly before the offertory, my mom, Wesley, and Kalyn entered, sitting in the seats to my far left. According to my mom, I tilted my head in a very goofy manner to wave at her through the opening in the propped-open piano. In any case, at the end of the service, I thanked everyone and found my way through the mob of people to where Heather, my dad, and Hope were standing, and eventually my mom, Wesley, and Kalyn walked over, too. Ms. Moyer played this killer postlude on the organ - I think it was "Little" Fugue in G minor or something like that by the bomb.com that is Johann Sebastien Bach. So, we went to sushi afterwards, and it was all hip-hip-hooray! and what-not.
So I went to youth group that night; and while I was there, I finally came to understand something that had been affecting me during many of the church services, including the one earlier that morning. Sitting with a group of girls around the table that night, not really thinking of much to say as usual, I felt this sort of aching loneliness (not the best way to describe it, but it was a sort of agitation). And it came to me that this loneliness was the result of a transitory but extreme warmth that I felt in my soul when I was around these people. This transitory warmth, I think, was indicative of a profound love for my brethren - it seems that when I am in church, I am reminded that all people are my brothers and sisters, and it is a very humbling experience, I tell you. So, in any case, I am like the Reverend Jim Casy in that I "love people so much I'm fit to bust sometimes," and hence the aching feeling. Because there is no "proper" way to express a love that is extreme enough to eclipse all of humanity during its strongest moments. So it is restrained, like Freud's libido, and it just doesn't seem natural. It irks me that, in general, I don't have "a way with" people; I think that I often come off to be very cold, when I would gladly run around embracing people if that were considered socially decent.
The last thing that should be taken into account is a tragedy that came to my attention yesterday. There was a boy from Reagan by the name of Nick Doub who suffered severe brain damage from a car accident and who passed away today. I cannot bear to think that this boy was a senior, about to go off to college and find a job and continue the family. I cannot bear to think that his parents taught him to read, and labored to teach him to write, and answered his questions about the grass and the moon and God. It is sad to think that what was once a bedroom will now be a memorial shrine. It is sad that such potential could be so quickly wiped from the earth. I hope that his parents will have the touch of divine resilience to move them onward and not try to understand this tragedy (because what can be gained from trying to understand it?), and I hope that we will all keep him in our hearts. I know it must happen often, but it is such an awful thing nonetheless. Well, I shall retire now with my mother and baby sister. It seems that school is again cancelled tomorrow.
Some words about the New Year: I went over to Shannon's house to celebrate it; it had been several months since we had last hung out (that last time, she, Aaron, Rhaynely, and Chloe accompanied me to the $2 theater, where we watched "Inception"). It was also her cousin Linda's birthday party, and several people slept over. I was on the phone with my mother in the basement stairwell as the ball dropped (which we did not see due to Shannon's current lack of cable - which wasn't a bummer, since that whole tradition has started to lose its glitz), and the people gathered in the general basement area blew on their noise-makers and yelled to cheerfully announce its arrival. That night, we watched "Idiocracy," which is a pretty amusing film, and I quickly fell asleep afterwards.
Since then, not too much has happened. I've driven around in my mom's car and in Heather's car. I've played the piano and the trumpet, and I've eagerly looked forward to the recongregation of the choir, which is supposed to happen in two days. I miss singing with everyone there - in spite of the fact that I do not remember all of their names, I feel a sense of brethrenly belonging when I am with them. When I am with the Sanctuary choir, I am amid my brethren.
Also, the season of midterms (and in the case of block classes like chemistry and Health, final exams) has begun, and has been rudely interrupted by a wintry mix which dropped a lot of snow on the Triad in the mid-afternoon. School was cancelled last night as a precaution, due to the fact that most weather channels predicted that the snow would end up icing up the roads pretty severely. In effect, the snow from today has begun the icing process, and school tomorrow has already been cancelled. The downfall of this is that we missed the review day that we were supposed to have for our math quarter test, and if I want any help from Mrs. Freitag before we take the test, it looks like I'll have to arrive quite early in the morning, as demand for her tutoring will be high.
Now, I believe that I've had dreams between now and then, but the only one that I can really remember involved my mom, Jeff, and I. We were going to go water-skiing or something like that, and so we had to descend into this cramped, moldy shed in order to dig out the necessary equipment. It was a beautiful summery day outside, but as we approached this rickety old shed, I began to have feelings of dread. I knew that I would be ridiculed or reproached if I did not go in to help them dig out the equipment for skiing, but I knew that the shed would be pregnant with colonies of spiders and those nasty jumping crickets that look like spiders. So, Jeff had to wedge open the door with force, and that barely allowed room for us to squeeze inside, where shafts of light fell on the dirt from holes in the rafters. We walked down some creaky wooden stairs which felt as though they might give beneath us. I held my arms protectively across my chest and walked quickly away from the stairs because I had seen a lot of webs in the general area. As I stumbled away I saw that the shed opened onto a marble-tiled, open expanse of floor with a man-made river running through the center. There were stores along the walls and an upper floor with more stores, like at the mall. And the floor was so shiny! and nice! I called out to my mom and Jeff, and they followed me into the open expanse of the mall-area. It was not very crowded; there were some people who sat with their feet dangling into the walled river. I pulled a bag of cinnamon toast crunch from my pocket and began to eat it dry as we walked and looked about in wonder. Suddenly, my mom pointed out a woman with reddish hair who was sitting along the side of the river with a laptop and said, "She's one of my customers; let's go say hi." I lagged along behind, hurriedly trying to put away my cinammon toast crunch. I did not have time to clean off my fingers, however, before the dreaded moment when my mom said, "So-and-so, this is my daughter, Robyn; Robyn, this is So-and-so," and the woman reached out her hand. Because my left hand was occupied with putting away the bag of cinnamon toast crunch, I was forced to shake this woman's hand with my sticky, cinammon-sprinkled right hand. It was easy to observe her disgust. I then woke up.
So, in other news, a couple of nights ago, Stormy and I finally had a Gary Oldman marathon at my house, in which we watched "Bram Stoker's 'Dracula,'" "Immortal Beloved," and part of a movie called "True Romance." We plan to continue it some night so that we can finish the third movie and progress to the Harry Potter and Batman movies. She left at about 12:30 that night, and I quickly went to bed, super-nervous about the following morning, January 9th, when I would be playing the piano for two church services. This oppurtunity was arranged a couple of months ago during the choir season; I happened to be early to a rehearsal, and so I played on the piano for a couple of minutes. When Ms. Moyer arrived, she extended the invitation to do the prelude and offertory sometime in January, and I quickly accepted the invitation. Over the course of December, I narrowed down my choice of what I was going to play to the "Adagio" from Beethoven's "Tempest" Sonata, the "Adagio Cantabile" from his "Pathetique" Sonata, and the 14th Invention of Bach (with her assistance, because I am very self-conscious about my Bach interpretation). So, this past Wednesday, we met at the church after school to work out the problems that I had with the Bach piece; then we progressed to my insecurity with the long series of runs in the "Tempest;" and then we finally decided on upping the tempo a little bit in the "Pathetique" to keep it lively. And then I practiced like mad until Sunday morning, when, after a night of frenzied tossing-and-turning and nightmares of failing epicly, I ate a banana and seven grapes and arrived at the churh at 8:00 to practice. I had bedecked myself in my casual black cotton dress, some leggings, and my gloves (because it was cold outside and I didn't want my hands to be all stiff) and I had brought my book of piano literature in case our organist wanted to go over some spots last-minute. As it turned out, I just spent the next half hour rehearsing on the nice Baldwin piano in the Sanctuary. At about 8:35, Ms. Moyer came in and told me where I could find some water; she also told me that it would be best to start around 8:50. When I came back, I noticed that some people had started to file in, and I continued to practice trouble spots, though I applied the soft pedal so as not to confuse the people into thinking that the prelude had started. At around 8:40, I ran the part of the "Pathetique" that was thick with ornamentation and had it approved by Ms. Moyer. She then warned me that people would probably talk during the prelude and I told her that I was used to playing under such conditions and would be grateful for it in case it covered my mistakes. I watched the red digital clock which was on the wall over the congregation. I breathed deeply. I ran the middle part of the Invention very slowly. There weren't very many people in the congregation and they were sparsely seated. It was 8:48. I perspired, and prayed quickly. I felt a hand on my shoulder and Ms. Moyer told me that I would do fine. Then it was 8:50, and I bobbed for a moment, feeling out a steady, sort of slow tempo. And then I played straight through the Bach, with my biggest error being some inconsistency in the time (speeding a little bit, and then slowing down too much to compensate). Overall, it did not go as horribly as I thought it might. Then, I did the "Tempest," on which I did fine until the long run, which I bungled up in the very middle, though I was quick to go past the error and continue through the run. So, maybe, people didn't notice it too much. I sustained the last B flat for a while, and then I got up and pranced over to sit in a chair behind the organ. I was introduced as a member of the youth and the Sanctuary choir shortly afterward, and my services were not called upon again until the offertory. In between, Mr. Moyer led the singing with his gorgeous tenor voice. There is nothing like a rich tenor voice, in my opinion. Then I did the "Pathetique," and I compensated for any bunglings that might have occured in the "Tempest." This first performance of the "Pathetique" was the best of any of the songs in either service, I think. At the end, I got up and skipped back to my place near the organ. That day, Mike Horne was doing the sermon on the parable of the Prodigal Son, which is always one of my favorite sermons each year, because it so deftly summarizes everything that I believe (or most of it, anyway). We also sang a couple of my favorite hymns. In any case, it was a good service, and a couple of people, including Dr. Daniel and some fellow choir members, came up to me afterward and thanked me for playing, and I awkwardly thanked them for thanking me - and for allowing me to exalt God and my soul and such. After the 9:00 service, they had the incoming deacons and elders give their testimonies, and so I went to the choir room upstairs to practice on the piano that has the blinking light. It has a really light and easy touch but very alien-sounding keys. I did that for about half an hour, went to the bathroom, refilled my cup of water, and returned downstairs, where there were mobs of people all over the Sanctuary, socializing loudly. I supposed that all of the deacons and elders were being congratulated at that point. Just as I mounted the stage, I saw my dad, Heather, and Hope walk in and I waved goofily at them. I was slightly cocky at that point due to the fact that the noise was so loud that no one would probably notice any of my mistakes; and so, when the time came at 10:50 to start the prelude, I did the inverse of the previous service. I bludgeoned the Bach and surprised myself with the lack of failure at the "Tempest" sonata (afterwards, my dad told me that, while I messed up the Bach, I did not stop or make it obvious that I messed up, which is a good thing). After the prelude, Dr. White asked the congregation to applaud, and it was awkward. And then, the "Pathetique" during that service also went well, though I got overexcited at the climax of the piece and pounded on the keys a bit too hard. Shortly before the offertory, my mom, Wesley, and Kalyn entered, sitting in the seats to my far left. According to my mom, I tilted my head in a very goofy manner to wave at her through the opening in the propped-open piano. In any case, at the end of the service, I thanked everyone and found my way through the mob of people to where Heather, my dad, and Hope were standing, and eventually my mom, Wesley, and Kalyn walked over, too. Ms. Moyer played this killer postlude on the organ - I think it was "Little" Fugue in G minor or something like that by the bomb.com that is Johann Sebastien Bach. So, we went to sushi afterwards, and it was all hip-hip-hooray! and what-not.
So I went to youth group that night; and while I was there, I finally came to understand something that had been affecting me during many of the church services, including the one earlier that morning. Sitting with a group of girls around the table that night, not really thinking of much to say as usual, I felt this sort of aching loneliness (not the best way to describe it, but it was a sort of agitation). And it came to me that this loneliness was the result of a transitory but extreme warmth that I felt in my soul when I was around these people. This transitory warmth, I think, was indicative of a profound love for my brethren - it seems that when I am in church, I am reminded that all people are my brothers and sisters, and it is a very humbling experience, I tell you. So, in any case, I am like the Reverend Jim Casy in that I "love people so much I'm fit to bust sometimes," and hence the aching feeling. Because there is no "proper" way to express a love that is extreme enough to eclipse all of humanity during its strongest moments. So it is restrained, like Freud's libido, and it just doesn't seem natural. It irks me that, in general, I don't have "a way with" people; I think that I often come off to be very cold, when I would gladly run around embracing people if that were considered socially decent.
The last thing that should be taken into account is a tragedy that came to my attention yesterday. There was a boy from Reagan by the name of Nick Doub who suffered severe brain damage from a car accident and who passed away today. I cannot bear to think that this boy was a senior, about to go off to college and find a job and continue the family. I cannot bear to think that his parents taught him to read, and labored to teach him to write, and answered his questions about the grass and the moon and God. It is sad to think that what was once a bedroom will now be a memorial shrine. It is sad that such potential could be so quickly wiped from the earth. I hope that his parents will have the touch of divine resilience to move them onward and not try to understand this tragedy (because what can be gained from trying to understand it?), and I hope that we will all keep him in our hearts. I know it must happen often, but it is such an awful thing nonetheless. Well, I shall retire now with my mother and baby sister. It seems that school is again cancelled tomorrow.
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