Well. Now that I've been officially living on campus for a week, it's probably a good time to write an update. I'm not really sure where to start - how do you catch up on writing about a whole week in a new state?
I hit my head on a towel dispenser in the bathroom today - I'll tell you that now to get it out of the way. I didn't bleed, but I've got a nasty bump. Yeah. Also, yesterday I was trying to escape the cafeteria after eating my first meal alone, and I was stuck at the doors for about 30 seconds wondering why they'd locked us in. Yep - you guessed it. Push, not pull. First time that's happened to me. Oh! And while I'm making confessions, I haven't been able to check my mailbox because you have to know how to work a combination lock to get in. And though I've got my combination number memorized, I've yet to successfully work the lock. So yes, I'm stating those humbling facts here and now at the beginning. I feel that that is a fitting way to start the long recounting of the college experience.
The campus itself is incredible. I love every building; they're all so unique and beautiful in their own ways. Everything is either brick or white stone of some sort - and there are trees and benches and lamp posts everywhere! It's such a stately-looking place, but it's quaint enough, too, to feel like a home. Today after a long day of classes, I grabbed a thermos of coffee and a few books and walked around campus to find a quiet place to sit. I wanted to be alone, but I didn't want to hide up in my room like a hermit - I've been doing that enough this week. (And I'm doing it right now... heh. Well, none of us is perfect, right?) I eventually found a sloping lawn on the outskirts of campus, next to my favorite building (the most aesthetically-beautiful, and as luck would have it, where most of my English classes will be). The lawn is full of trees and benches, and they're all far enough apart to give complete privacy to people who go there. So I sat on two benches (feet up!) and read Salinger and wrote Kate (we'll see if I can find an envelope and a stamp around here...) for a few hours. Every once in a while some students would walk past me, down the hill, or a train would go by and I'd count the cars. And there were two squirrels that I would watch with frequency. It was the most peaceful I've felt all week, and it made me so happy. I've found a sanctuary.
Some of you are probably stuck on the fact that I just referred to myself as a hiding hermit. Don't worry, I'm not being antisocial. Well, not really. I just haven't really found a good fit for myself yet, social-scene-wise. I've met a lot of people, but not that many that I've really clicked with. Sometimes that gets kind of discouraging (walking into the caf and not seeing anyone I know, for example, and thus sitting alone with a book), but I also am aware that it's only been a week. I don't really make friendships quickly - I know that about myself. I like relationships with substance. Things will look up soon, though, I hope... I'm definitely not a natural extrovert, but I'm trying. :) I actually have much better luck talking to people in my classes than during free-time. Classes, by the way, are pretty great so far. The first day of French terrified me, due to a "no English" rule that the professor enforces... but today's class was much better. The professor is pretty good at knowing when he needs to translate something into English; this translation usually comes after he's made direct eye-contact with me. ;) My Literature class is so much fun - it's completely made up of class discussion. We're reading the Odyssey, and all we have to do so far (aside from read it) is keep a list of questions or interesting observations as we read. Then we get to class, take out our papers, and bring up whatever we want to talk about. It's fabulous. My Bible class is, unfortunately, the most difficult to pay attention to. It's my last one of the day, it's in mid-afternoon, it's a lecture class, and the classroom is hot. My brain kind of checks out halfway through. But we have a lot of good reading material, so at least I've got that. My Intro to Theater class, however, might be my favorite. We've only had one class period, but I just have a really good feeling about that one. I don't really know how to describe what that feeling is, but I do know that the professor seems really cool, and that was the only class period where I felt completely present the whole time. Even after just two hours, I felt like I'd learned a lot about people and myself, especially. Theater has a way of doing that. It's awesome.
Speaking of theater, I officially declared it as my minor. I also officially declared a writing concentration. Shoot - should I have done "creative writing"? Agh. I meant to check that before I turned it in.
What else? I've started to drink my coffee black. I have a small 4-cup coffee pot and I make one every day, and usually finish it throughout the day. So I'm cutting back considerably from my normal amount, back at home. I think that's mostly because the microwave is 4 floors down, though - and when I'm studying and want a cup of coffee, I rarely feel like making the trek all the way down.
I'm tired. I think I'm going to try to get a lot of sleep tonight - tomorrow is Saturday, and I have absolutely no plans. Oh, AND, we're supposed to have "monsoon weather" tomorrow. Apparently there was a hurricane in Texas? I didn't know that... but that apparently means that we're getting weird weather here. Today was incredibly hot and muggy; the air felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. It's been pleasant the rest of the time, but today was just... bleh. Anyway, the reason I bring the weather up is that it's supposed to rain torrentially tomorrow, so I can't go to my sanctuary and spend the day reading on a bench. It may be a good opportunity to get to know the library, though. Or figure out how to get into my mailbox. Probably that.
I'll try to write more regularly, now that I'm starting to get a sense of my schedule. The point is that things are going well here - so don't be worried, people who tend to worry about me. I'll find my place soon enough. For now, I'm content enough to have awkward introductory conversations with the midwestern folk, read my books, and rely on the fact that God is looking out for me. I miss my family and friends like crazy, by the way - but I rely, too, on the fact that God is looking out for you. I love you guys. I hope things are well in California. You should write me, by the way! I promise I'll figure out my mailbox, if you do. :)
Goodnight.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Bless Our House
The apartment that my brother and his wife live in is a wonderfully eclectic place. Between their bookshelves of classical literature and theology (including Western, Eastern, and nearly everything in between), the framed abstract photographic works of our sister, the Lewis Carroll quotes on their refrigerator (which, incidentally, are taped right next to the magazine picture of a very pouty monkey on a tree branch), the photographs of Prague and Venice and a watercolor of a fox's head, the 12-month calendar that my sister-in-law's little sister made (which has its own claims to creative fame, let me tell you), and the St. Brigid's cross that hangs above their front door, any observer who was let in would have to concede that the young Muellers are a people of varied tastes and interests. My favorite bit of decorative ingenuity, however, is the piece of paper that hangs above their bedroom door. My sister-in-law, Megan, took up embroidery some months ago and decided to stitch a hoop with lyrics from one of her favorite songs. (The song, by the way, is "Sadie" by Joanna Newsom. Newsom is an incredibly acquired taste; I'm still in the middle ground of only being able to take some of her songs. But "Sadie" is definitely one that I can listen to over and over again.) The lyrics, as they are intended to appear, are these:
"Bless our house and its heart so savage."
Until the hoop could be finished, though, Megan decided to write the lyrics on a piece of lined yellow notebook paper and tape it above the door. To make it a bit more creative, she replaced the word "heart" with the corresponding symbol. Aesthetically, it's a pleasing little piece of artwork; but if your eyes are like mine, they tend to skip over symbols and focus only on the printed words. Which means that when I walked into the apartment for the first time, I saw a sign above the door that read:
"Bless our house and it's so savage."
I assumed that this was a reference to something I didn't understand, and didn't ask any questions. Apparently I wasn't the only one who made this mistake. When the matter came to light, we all had a good laugh about it - what silliness, home being "so savage". That was a good six or seven months ago, though; and even though the embroidery piece is finished, that piece of paper is still taped above their bedroom door. It's odd, but when I think of little things about home that I'll miss, that sign is one of the first things to come to mind.
I'm leaving for school in Illinois on Thursday, and even though I've known that since April, somehow the fact just gets stranger every day. I know it's time for me to go somewhere new - and it probably has been for awhile - but I can't help feeling a little nauseous when I think about it. I've traveled before, plenty of times; I spent two months traveling Europe by myself, for heaven's sake. But every time I've gone somewhere, I've always come back. It's not that I'm worried about feeling homesick, mind; I adapt to new places surprisingly quickly, as long as I have enough to do. It's just that I've been realizing, bit by bit, that this really is the end of a chapter. Not even just a chapter - more like the end of one book in a series. Right now my whole family - my parents, my oldest sister and her husband and my baby niece, my brother and his wife, and my sister Kate (who is also my closest friend) - are all relatively close. Most of us live within fifteen minutes of each other. But once I leave, Kate is planning on moving, and Jon and Megan have been looking to move for some time. I don't think that we'll all live in the same town again - at least not for a long while. And as far as I know, I won't ever live at home again. The thing that kills me most is the fact that by the time I graduate, my niece will be three years old. It still freaks me out that she can stand on her own; when I come home and hear her talking, I might have a heart attack.
All of this is normal, I know. It just surprises me that I'd never thought of it in these exact terms before. I only thought of moving to a new place; I didn't think as much about the one I'd leave, and all the things here that I won't have there. And then, somehow, there's a bizarre part of me that feels like I've done all of this before. But that, I think, may be simply because I have vicariously survived college three times already. (The blessing and curse of being so close to one's older siblings.) Half the time I feel stressed and nervous because I've never lived in a different state than my family before; but for the other half, I feel like I'm simply following an all too familiar routine. Both halves, oddly enough, are equally exhausting.
How silly of me. They can't be exact halves, 50-50, because there is a third category. A smaller one, yes, but it's there nonetheless. So maybe it's 45-45-10. And that is the part of me that knows, absolutely and resolutely, that this is exactly where I'm meant to be. At the beginning. Despite whatever "old soul" complex I've developed as the youngest of four, I'm only nineteen. I'm heading into the years that most everyone looks back upon with fondness. The stretching and molding and eventually definitive years. "Home" will still mean the Southern California house where my parents live - for awhile. After that, I'm not sure where the word will refer to, but I'll find out eventually. And really, that's what makes the search exciting, isn't it?
I've never tried my hand at embroidery, but I do like the idea of hanging a hoop of my own above a door someplace. Probably something equally obscure (especially if words are lost in symbol-translation), and, hopefully, someplace equally and lovingly savage.
Here's to the search.
"Bless our house and its heart so savage."
Until the hoop could be finished, though, Megan decided to write the lyrics on a piece of lined yellow notebook paper and tape it above the door. To make it a bit more creative, she replaced the word "heart" with the corresponding symbol. Aesthetically, it's a pleasing little piece of artwork; but if your eyes are like mine, they tend to skip over symbols and focus only on the printed words. Which means that when I walked into the apartment for the first time, I saw a sign above the door that read:
"Bless our house and it's so savage."
I assumed that this was a reference to something I didn't understand, and didn't ask any questions. Apparently I wasn't the only one who made this mistake. When the matter came to light, we all had a good laugh about it - what silliness, home being "so savage". That was a good six or seven months ago, though; and even though the embroidery piece is finished, that piece of paper is still taped above their bedroom door. It's odd, but when I think of little things about home that I'll miss, that sign is one of the first things to come to mind.
I'm leaving for school in Illinois on Thursday, and even though I've known that since April, somehow the fact just gets stranger every day. I know it's time for me to go somewhere new - and it probably has been for awhile - but I can't help feeling a little nauseous when I think about it. I've traveled before, plenty of times; I spent two months traveling Europe by myself, for heaven's sake. But every time I've gone somewhere, I've always come back. It's not that I'm worried about feeling homesick, mind; I adapt to new places surprisingly quickly, as long as I have enough to do. It's just that I've been realizing, bit by bit, that this really is the end of a chapter. Not even just a chapter - more like the end of one book in a series. Right now my whole family - my parents, my oldest sister and her husband and my baby niece, my brother and his wife, and my sister Kate (who is also my closest friend) - are all relatively close. Most of us live within fifteen minutes of each other. But once I leave, Kate is planning on moving, and Jon and Megan have been looking to move for some time. I don't think that we'll all live in the same town again - at least not for a long while. And as far as I know, I won't ever live at home again. The thing that kills me most is the fact that by the time I graduate, my niece will be three years old. It still freaks me out that she can stand on her own; when I come home and hear her talking, I might have a heart attack.
All of this is normal, I know. It just surprises me that I'd never thought of it in these exact terms before. I only thought of moving to a new place; I didn't think as much about the one I'd leave, and all the things here that I won't have there. And then, somehow, there's a bizarre part of me that feels like I've done all of this before. But that, I think, may be simply because I have vicariously survived college three times already. (The blessing and curse of being so close to one's older siblings.) Half the time I feel stressed and nervous because I've never lived in a different state than my family before; but for the other half, I feel like I'm simply following an all too familiar routine. Both halves, oddly enough, are equally exhausting.
How silly of me. They can't be exact halves, 50-50, because there is a third category. A smaller one, yes, but it's there nonetheless. So maybe it's 45-45-10. And that is the part of me that knows, absolutely and resolutely, that this is exactly where I'm meant to be. At the beginning. Despite whatever "old soul" complex I've developed as the youngest of four, I'm only nineteen. I'm heading into the years that most everyone looks back upon with fondness. The stretching and molding and eventually definitive years. "Home" will still mean the Southern California house where my parents live - for awhile. After that, I'm not sure where the word will refer to, but I'll find out eventually. And really, that's what makes the search exciting, isn't it?
I've never tried my hand at embroidery, but I do like the idea of hanging a hoop of my own above a door someplace. Probably something equally obscure (especially if words are lost in symbol-translation), and, hopefully, someplace equally and lovingly savage.
Here's to the search.
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