Epic Weekend Part 2

Sorry it has taken so long to get the rest of this up. Between classes, large papers, Spring Break, and conferences I seem to have been unable to really take the time to tell the rest of the story. But hey, here's the rest of it!

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Well, leaving at five o'clock was perhaps not the smartest idea, especially since there had been storms the day before. Alone on the freeway I was facing wind, ice, and the coming darkness. To keep myself calm, I ended up singing to myself the entire 52 miles of the drive, which (miraculously) worked rather well. Driving through the dark in a truck that old is not something I ever want to repeat, but I made it. My nerves almost didn't, but the rest of me was just fine.

That night Beth's parents were nice enough to serve me dinner, and (even though it was meatloaf) it disappeared from my plate faster than Smokee can twitch his tail.

Sleeping in a bed like that certainly was nice. I felt nice and comfortable, and slept like a log. The next day, Beth and I decided to have fun. We went to the strip mall, and our first stop was Sally's Beauty Supplies. I teased Beth that I should dye my hair purple, and it was amazing how fast we got out of there. She can't take a joke about my haircolor apparently (just because I like to do things to my hair when I get bored). We then walked over to Cold Stone's Creamery to get some ice cream. It happened that, while we were in there, Men At Work's "Land Down Under" came on. There's a common rule that exists in our apartment: Kirstin isn't allowed in public, stores especially, when hyper. I have a unique habit that tends to scare people, though I have never figured out why. When in stores, grocery stores especially, I tend to break out into song. Well, this time I had the music provided and could not resist the urge. Swinging my hips, I started to sing along. The shock came, though, when the guy behind the counter started to sing and dance along with me. Soon we had a sing-along going on, and even Beth got in on the fun.

The rest of the weekend passed with a good deal of laughter, sugar, and movie watching. Honestly, I can't remember everything we did, beyond watching "Howl's Moving Castle," but it was a great chance to bond with Beth. Fun, yeah?

Beth and Kirstin's Epic Weekend Adventure of Awesome

Brace yourself, my friends, for a tale so epical and wondrous that it needed a title that long. For this is not just a tale of a weekend. No, it is far more. This is the story of darkened canyons, cliffs, and strawberry blonds.

Friday morning there was a magical time where I was planning on going home. I was going to bake my godfather brownies for Valentines Day and pretend that holiday wasn't going on--it just tends to depress me when I think about it too much. But I got a feeling, you know one of those feelings, that it wouldn't be safe for me to go home. So, with a sigh, I let my parents and my ride know I was going to be staying back for the long weekend. I was expecting an affair of dullness and loneliness.

I was wrong.

Beth called me and told me she had been called into work, which I had expected. But then she told me that her parents had invited me to stay down in St. George with them for the weekend. If I went, I would get to enjoy the benefits of a big screen tv, a queen sized bed, and many other glorious things that words could describe in more sentences than I am willing to dedicate. There was one little problem: I would have to drive myself. The thought of driving Gandalf the hour it would take aaaaaall the way to St. George terrified me. I was just getting to the point of passable with the truck on the backroads: going on the freeway would be suicide. Around five o'clock I decided to take Gandalf for a spin to see how good a job I was doing that day at driving him. Suffice it to say, before long I was headed south with my laptop and dufflebag as my only company on the drive.

~To Be Continued~

Gandalf the White, My Roomie, and Me

So I have had a very bad string of luck with cars. Seriously, it is getting ridiculous. Ever since Kermit (my first Bronco) died two years ago, I have not been able to get a car to like me. The Love Boat (a Crown Victoria) has done the best so far, but I sold that over the summer in hopes of getting a new Bronco. Well, I did get a new Bronco... and it broke. Then I got another Bronco... and it broke.

Throwing my hands into the air, I declared that I would have nothing more to do with cars. But then Dad convinced me I needed to drive something. Well, being a silly thing I agreed to learn to drive stick and borrow his white 1960s Ford truck. He drove it down this past weekend, gave me lessons, and wished me luck.

Well, I have managed to practice driving almost every day this week (except yesterday when we had company over). Beth refuses to ride with me anymore, but today Kinsey agreed to go with me. So, we went rampaging across the countryside in the truck, which we have lovingly dubbed "Gandalf the White." Things actually went really well, right up until the moment I stopped at a stop sign at the top of a small hill. I did everything right, but it wouldn't move. Well, somehow the truck got moving, and then I looked down. I had been in third instead of second. Yeah, that was smart of me.

Kinsey and I got feeling brave, though, and decided we were going to Walmart. For those who don't know the area, going to Walmart involves driving through at least one light and going to the other side of town. Well, we decided to brave it. Chugging along, we took the backroads towards it. Along the way we waved at Rori and Jamie and all of the other girls from JC3, and tried to look as natural as possible going through the city. We made it, I'll have you know that. We were laughing so hard, though, that an elderly lady informed us that we were simply having too much fun. Kinsey and I just laughed and told her that we had just survived a harrowing trek in a vehicle I am still figuring out how to drive.

And yes, we made it home safely, too. Figured you all would like to know I haven't managed to kill us yet.

Just music

Some songs I feel... attached to this week.



"Angel of Mine" by Amanda Somerville



"First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" by Leona Lewis



"Breathe Me" by Sia



"Air and Simple Gifts" from the inauguration

Nerding Out

Today I discovered that it is entirely possible to nerd out so thoroughly that an entire class of theatre majors falls into a stunned silence for several moments, including the professor. I never thought that could happen, and I would have never guessed something I said would be to blame.

I just got out of my Shakespeare Lit. class, during which we had been discussing Henry V, Henry VI (1, 2, and 3), and Richard III. We had been talking merrily about Richard for twenty minutes and the class was winding down even though we still had ten minutes left. Unsuspectingly, Christrine asked if anyone else had something they absolutely needed to say. There was a silence, a shifting in seats as members of the class tried to avoid notice. And then I rose my hand. Expecting at least some sort of random blathering, Christine called on me, and that was when I hit them with it.

While looking at Richard III I had noticed that he had a very particular way of speaking, that he used certain sounds and structures to the way he spoke. And then I began to remember the way that other villains in Shakespeare spoke, the sounds they used. That little seed of thought blossomed when I started thinking about next semester's production of Macbeth, and it hit: Shakespeare tells you absolutely everything you need to know in the text. By the words people use you can determine whether they are good or evil, and certain speeches will use sounds and structures that purposely make you feel uneasy with a particular character. It's genius, really, the way he does it. The sinuous words they use are absolutely glorious!

Shakespeare really is my hero, and it makes me want to get a doctorate in Shakespeare even more. Ah, the love my heart holds for him can not be contained in words alone!

Anyway, after my little ramble, the class stared at me for a number of moments. Then Christine, giving me a look of mild amusement and awe, told me that I needed to get Shakespeare After All by Marjorie Garber. Luckily, my roommate has it so I can see if I like it half as much as I hope to. If I do, I am just going to have to add it to my list of books I need to get.

Well, here's hoping everything is as wonderful as I'd like!

In the Eye of the Beholder

Many of us get very excited around Christmas--or so I've noticed. People get that sparkle in their eye, and they anticipate that early morning of opening presents and watching the gifts they've given be received. It's quite magical, all things considered, that so many people are simultaneously happy.

This Christmas, I was as happy as everyone else. At the movie theatre, I would wish everyone a Merry Christmas, and I couldn't seem to stop smiling. I was more excited to see my parents' reactions to their gifts than anything--I thought I had gotten both of them good gifts. I didn't even really think about what I was getting, except maybe shooting a longing glance in the direction of the Doris Day dvd collection.

Christmas Eve came, though, and Mom insisted everyone come upstairs. As was traditional, we read the Christmas story and my brother and I got CTR rings. I was surprised at that, I haven't had a CTR ring since I was about eight years old. The last one, you see, had to be cut off my finger when it got smashed on. I couldn't seem to keep another one after that, in the few times I tried. Thinking that was all, I prepared myself to go wander back downstairs and continuing writing on a side project I've been working on. But Mom reminded me that we still had one tradition left: opening a gift from the extended family.

Since Phillip got to pick out which gift I opened, I was a bit worried. I thought he'd go for something peculiar, but it didn't work that way. Instead, he pulled out a decently sized package that was from my grandmother. When it clunked, I was terrified that it had somehow gotten broken. Hesitantly, I pulled the wrapping paper off the box, and I stared at it in confusion for a moment. Inside was a rather beaten, dusty box that looked as if it had been around for a number of decades more than I had. Confused, I slowly opened it, and I stared at what was inside.

Silverware. But, more than that, beautiful silverware. Looking in the box, I found a sheet of paper that declared it was Tudor Plated Silverware as made by the Oneida Community Silversmiths, and the paper was so old I was afraid it would fall apart in my hands. The set wasn't complete, but every piece was so beautiful and fit so wonderfully in my hands that I couldn't help but marvel at it. "It's so beautiful!" I told my Dad.

And then he told me the most stunning thing of all. "That silverware was your great grandmother's. I've known for some time you were going to inherit it."

I stared at the fork in my hand with renewed awe. It was my great grandmother's? She died nearly ten years ago, you see, and I was devastated when she passed away. My childhood is full of memories of running around in her garden and eating pecan sandies with her. We would spend a lot of time tending to the irises, and she loved to just talk with me even though I was just a tiny kid. I loved her with all of my heart, and suddenly I was holding something that had belonged to her for fifty years. I nearly cried I was so touched and so happy. The next hour was spent looking up the pattern and how much it would take to make the set complete. Suffice it to say, the pieces I am missing are on their way now. Dad was willing to go halfs with me on a set that had what I needed, so Grandma Bone's silverware won't be lonely anymore.

I can't wait until the day when I get to use her beautiful silverware with great grandchildren of my own. The set, I hope, is something that will be passed down through the family for many years to come. I could not have received a more beautiful gift.


Pretty, isn't it?





By way of information, the pattern is called "Fantasy" and was made from 1941-1959.

Understanding Yourself

Christine Frezza is known to say that every play is about a character's journey from ignorance to self-awareness, and Shakespeare once mentioned that we are all just players on the stage of life. So, I suppose you could say that we are all going on journeys of ignorance to self-awareness every day, and that each is a new play for God to watch.

This semester I've been on several journeys, most of them at the exact same moment in time. The funny thing? I didn't even notice. It probably works best that way, all things considered.

My major path, though, has been one of coming to accept myself. All my life I've had ichthyosis, and for most of time I let it define who was. I wasn't just Kirstin. I was Kirstin, the girl with ichthyosis and a sharp tongue. But living like that... It is so draining. This semester I, somehow or another, ended up writing a creative nonfiction story about what it's like to live with my disorder. As I was writing it, I noticed that my disorder was a part of who I am, but it was just that: a piece. I don't know when or how, but sometime in the past year I've moved on, and have really let myself live. Even on days when my face looks absolutely horrible, I still go out and smile at people, even when they give me looks that their mothers would not approve of. I think I may have even come to love myself, to love what I see in the mirror. I may not be stunningly beautiful in the eyes of the world, but... to me, I'm starting to be someone worth noticing. It's the most amazing thing, really, to realize that you love and accept yourself. I feel like nothing can really stop me from doing what I want because I've tackled the hardest thing: myself.

I think I am really going to enjoy the new year, and I wish all of you the best.