Despite the fact that I've been here in Malix for three months now, I still speak next to NO German. Serves me right for taking Spanish all those years, I guess. The little I have learned is as follows:
Locations:
"Malix" - pronounce the world "mall" as if you were in Boston, then add "eeeks" to the end.
"Chur" locals drop the "C," but most train station workers say "Coor" (as in the beer without an "s").
"Ish-tal-I-za" - though I have never seen it written as such, this is what locals call Italy.
"Leichtenziner"- a nick-name for people from Liechtenstein (who are apparently the butt of some national joke that I know nothing about...)
"Heidi-lande" - the portion of the Alps just Northwest of Malix that is popular with commercial farmers and tourists. Also the setting of the original novels about Heidi, Girl of the Alps.
Food:
"Spetzli" - pronounced "Sh-spets-ly," it's Swiss-German for picnic of greatness!
"Trokterfleish" one of the first words I was able to sound out (as it is in fact phonetic,) it refers to dried elk meat---kind of like salami or jerky.
"Apfelwein"- translates to apple wine, though I have had a devil of a time remembering to turn my "w"s into "v"s and wisa wersa. (Curse you, Richard Wanger!!!)
"Zokten-Fotzel"- a local twist on French Toast in which stale bread is soaked in egg and milk for up to a few days, then drained and baked over potatoes and cheese.
Conversations:
"Ich Vice Nicht" - my most commonly used phrase. "I. Don't. Know."
"Greutze" -while I have long stuck with a simple "hallo," this mash-up of what sounds to my ears like "curtsy" with a hard "g" in front is the local greeting.
"Guese!" - pronounced somewhere between "juice," "jews," and "chews," it is Swiss-German for goodbye/farewell.
"Danke Shon" - Thanks a lot
"Bitte"- the go-to word. It can mean you're welcome, please, what can I get you, see ya later, and plenty more depending on time, place and inflection.
"Prost!" - This one I got right away, thank goodness. It means "Cheers!"
"Liden-Schwachkopf" - I'm told it is all out of love, but this is Jamie's favorite nick-name for me which translates roughly to "slow-learner" or, more than likely, "idiot."
I am however getting pretty good at reading cooking directions, travel instructions and letters from disgruntled teachers due to absolute necessity. "Hausarbeit?" Check!
And that, save the days of the week, months of the year, and a few names and numbers, is about it for my linguistic education. I knew taking language classes from people called Jones and Bond and Peterson would come back to bite me someday!
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Untitled
and the stress of school and work
and a life filled with needs unmet
I find myself feeling satisfied.
I like the little life that has unfolded before me
and I feel content in this place.
My mornings are early and long and full.
I happily and strangely embrace my new role
of sudo-adult and friend, provider and peacemaker.
I never have enough time to sit and eat a meal in peace,
let alone finish a book,
but I take comfort in the activity of it all.
I walk each and every day (a foot of snow be damned!)
I brew and consume enough strong tea each day to fill a bathtub.
And I'm not kidding.
My afternoons are consumed
by times tables and games, German grammar and time-outs.
I cook and the smell of cinnamon makes me feel at home.
I crank Axl Rose and jam with Jamie,
dance to Miley Cyrus with Raina and
watch movies with English subtitles with Carrie and Chrigl.
And when the quiet settles in at last
I stand at the kitchen sink in solitude,
finishing the dishes
and humming a bar or two of Pie Jesu,
its gentle familiarity reassures me
that I am ready to begin again tomorrow.
Because I love it here.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
A Great Day In The Life
I love my life.
Why?
Well, for a great many reasons, but for the purposes of this post and this day in particular I must declare my love for life through the appreciation of friends, family and food. This past weekend was a beautiful one in Malix; not only did the sun shine and the snow begin to melt, but my cultural experiences expanded a thousand fold in the course of 12 hours thanks to Carrie, Chrigl, and lots of food.
The morning began like any other day here, though considering it was a Saturday we all got up earlier than normal (the Swiss are backwards, I know) and had a fantastic breakfast, courtesy of Chrigl. He returned home in the early hours of the morning after a two week stint of training in Austria and instead of getting some much needed sleep the man drank some coffee and then started flipping flapjacks at 5 a.m. Yes sir, Chrigl is climbing the charts of "most awesome human ever;" for in addition to the much loved American pancakes (complete with Nutella and peanut butter, bless him!) he also took the time to prepare the traditional Rosti for me to try. Let me tell you friends, it is fantastic. Somewhere between the boarder of hashbrowns and crepes lies the happy land of Rosti--hot, eggy, potatoy, buttery goodness--not besmirched with such vial American sins as ketchup, but rather lovingly crowned with cinnamon, sugar and hot applesauce. Pure bliss!
Now, I was floored and thankful for the morning's surprise, to say the least, but at the same time I felt kind of caught off guard. This was the first weekend where all three adults were in the house at the same time for more than a few hours and I'll admit I was unsure of what to do. When either Carrie or Chrigl is away I tend to take on all culinary detail simply because I know that each has a million other things to be doing. With breakfast out of my hands I found myself standing in the kitchen at 5:45 with no occupation other than to watch my tea water boil while Chrigl flew around the room like a man possessed. (While a respectable cook and an amazingly involved and domestic father by Swiss standards, Chrigl does tend to have what I lovingly refer to as "The Sam Effect" on a room when he gets into a project. Thus, by the time I retreated to the doorway to lean against the post and repose with my Earl Grey the kitchen looked a lot like a disaster area.)
However, I need not have worried about feeling useless because a moment later, as if on cue, Jamie appeared (clad in nothing but a bathrobe and brandishing a pocket comb as he has done every morning for the past week after I told him he looked like James Dean...I freaking love this kid!) demanding to know where the french toast I promised him could be found. I reddened and tried to explain that Chrigl had made a special breakfast and that I'd make it for him another day, but Chrigl merely smiled and said "ah, yes, this is good. We have all the breakfast at once, America and Swiss together, yes?" and kindly produced a clean pan (from I know not where) and stepped aside to allow breakfast, round two, to begin. (And about five minutes after that Raina arrived demanding Ovomaltine on toast, thus facilitating yet another addition to the breakfast relay.)
I wish I had taken a picture of the havoc-stricken kitchen (how the hell all three of us presided over various cooking projects at once, I will never know) or at least of the carbo-kingdom spread we laid out afterwards, but alas for my lack of forethought! Therefore, I will say only that it was one of the better breakfasts I've had this side of 2005. Carbs and glucose were consumed by all in great abundance before the village clock struck eight, whereupon I cleaned, Chrigl slept, and Carrie took the kids for a walk to their Grandmother's house to put the last of their summer stuff in the storage barn.
By the time we all reconvened I was sure there would be no need for food again for a long time, but when Jamie and Raina's friends from school came over and all showed sighs of being bored I jumped at the chance to distract them with a little culinary adventure. The objective: tarts.
The boys seemed more hungry than excited so I sent them out to the garden to gather the last of the blackberries and raspberries while I scraped together a pie crust recipe from various cookbooks and, with the help of Raina and her friend Joanna, made some respectable muffin-tin sized rounds by the time the boys returned with the vestiges of their berry-picking. It was hard enough trying to sweeten and reduce the meager harvest without prior experience, but doing so in the company of four kids under 10 was nearly impossible---or so I thought. Miraculously, we managed to produce four respectable looking tarts (two having succumbed to the wrath of Jamie and his friend Enzo's over-eagerness to remove them from the muffin tin, and thereby turning them into unrecognizable globs of redish-black jelly flecked with pastry. These, though not beautiful, were no less delicious, or so I'm told.) The surviving pastries were distributed to each child to top as they pleased, resulting in one cream, one shaved chocolate, one sugar, and one with sweetened condensed milk being presented to Mami and Papi as an afternoon surprise. Carrie ate her sugared one with pride while Chrigl manfully endured the condensed milk and pronounced Jamie's creation "a real triumph" while I shook with silent laughter and packed the other two up to be taken home to neighboring mothers and fathers.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent out of doors, with me alternating between throwing a baseball with Chrigl and Jamie, then sketching landscapes with Carrie and Raina. As the sun began to set and the cold stole in around us I figured I should start dinner before it got too dark, but Carrie stopped me and said that as tonight was a celebration of sorts (that of Chrigl's return and Carrie's three-week anniversary of being hospital-free) we were going on a family outing. I became more and more excited and intrigued as heavy winter clothes, flashlights, and matches started to appear. Uninformed but eager, I suited up in my warmest gear, donned a head lamp, found Raina's hand in mine, and the five of us set off into the wilderness.
After about a 25 minute walk up and away from the town of Malix we arrived at a remote farm with a covered out-building, beside which I could see a fire already blazing. Even from a distance the sound of hearty voices carried into our midst and I felt the cold of the night surrender to the powers of warmth and good cheer. Once seated around the fire I was introduced to Paulo, a older farmer and family friend of Chrigl's; his wife Ruth, their son Karl, a man of about 35, and their granddaughter Juliana, who said to me in near-perfect English, " I'm thirteen and I love Nick Jonas. Do you know him?" One of the funnier conversations of my life. Hurrah for being American, I guess?
Introductions were followed by drinks that seemed to materialize out of nowhere, for I could see no chest or cooler from whence they came. Still having little to no knowledge of German food and drink I simply smiled and nodded when Paulo offered me an unknown liquid from a stoneware blue and white jug. Chrigl mumbled the word "Apfelwein" to me and when I was handed an enormous mug of cold, fizzy-looking cider I nodded again and raised my mug to toast with the others before taking a long pull of the most delicious beverage known to man. Seriously. I think Jameson and Malibu have been officially unhorsed by a barrel of Swiss apple juice. Man, do I love Switzerland!
Dinner had been simmering over the fire since before we arrived--another local treat. Now, I had had the pleasure of enjoying Carrie's homemade fondu a few weeks before in the comfort of home, but I can now say that nothing beats the sweet, almost smokey taste of melted raclette, gruyere and whole cloves of garlic over fire-baked potatoes with pan rustica and pears. Between eight of us, we killed two boiling pots of fondu and more than three loaves of bread (all the better to soak up the apfelwein for the walk home, so I was told,) and yet we somehow made room for a brick or two of simple, solid Swiss chocolate for dessert, plus coca for the kids and apple Schnapps for the grown-ups to help us home, though we stayed around the fire for a good hour or more after all the drinks were dry. The three kids talking animatedly about their favorite Jonas Brother's songs, the adults discussing hunting season and tourism and Carrie's recovery, while I sat happily on the sidelines of each group, content to listen and absorb. (Though my speaking is still virtually nonexistent, I can usually pick up enough to understand what is being said around me in German. Usually.)
By the time we rose to return home night had fallen in earnest, yet we opted to take the long way home, meandering here and there through the dense forrest, headlamps bobbing as various members took it in turns to sing German folk songs or old camp classics (I resorted to Ode to Joy when called upon to sing in the local vernacular...obviously I drank to much cider...) The light of the little house was nevertheless a welcome sight by the end of the walk, Raina heavy in my arms and Jamie beginning to snore into Chrigl's shoulder. Laughing soundlessly, the three adults disrobed and put to bed two shockingly acquiescent children before nodding off ourselves.
It was a great day.
Why?
Well, for a great many reasons, but for the purposes of this post and this day in particular I must declare my love for life through the appreciation of friends, family and food. This past weekend was a beautiful one in Malix; not only did the sun shine and the snow begin to melt, but my cultural experiences expanded a thousand fold in the course of 12 hours thanks to Carrie, Chrigl, and lots of food.
The morning began like any other day here, though considering it was a Saturday we all got up earlier than normal (the Swiss are backwards, I know) and had a fantastic breakfast, courtesy of Chrigl. He returned home in the early hours of the morning after a two week stint of training in Austria and instead of getting some much needed sleep the man drank some coffee and then started flipping flapjacks at 5 a.m. Yes sir, Chrigl is climbing the charts of "most awesome human ever;" for in addition to the much loved American pancakes (complete with Nutella and peanut butter, bless him!) he also took the time to prepare the traditional Rosti for me to try. Let me tell you friends, it is fantastic. Somewhere between the boarder of hashbrowns and crepes lies the happy land of Rosti--hot, eggy, potatoy, buttery goodness--not besmirched with such vial American sins as ketchup, but rather lovingly crowned with cinnamon, sugar and hot applesauce. Pure bliss!
Now, I was floored and thankful for the morning's surprise, to say the least, but at the same time I felt kind of caught off guard. This was the first weekend where all three adults were in the house at the same time for more than a few hours and I'll admit I was unsure of what to do. When either Carrie or Chrigl is away I tend to take on all culinary detail simply because I know that each has a million other things to be doing. With breakfast out of my hands I found myself standing in the kitchen at 5:45 with no occupation other than to watch my tea water boil while Chrigl flew around the room like a man possessed. (While a respectable cook and an amazingly involved and domestic father by Swiss standards, Chrigl does tend to have what I lovingly refer to as "The Sam Effect" on a room when he gets into a project. Thus, by the time I retreated to the doorway to lean against the post and repose with my Earl Grey the kitchen looked a lot like a disaster area.)
However, I need not have worried about feeling useless because a moment later, as if on cue, Jamie appeared (clad in nothing but a bathrobe and brandishing a pocket comb as he has done every morning for the past week after I told him he looked like James Dean...I freaking love this kid!) demanding to know where the french toast I promised him could be found. I reddened and tried to explain that Chrigl had made a special breakfast and that I'd make it for him another day, but Chrigl merely smiled and said "ah, yes, this is good. We have all the breakfast at once, America and Swiss together, yes?" and kindly produced a clean pan (from I know not where) and stepped aside to allow breakfast, round two, to begin. (And about five minutes after that Raina arrived demanding Ovomaltine on toast, thus facilitating yet another addition to the breakfast relay.)
I wish I had taken a picture of the havoc-stricken kitchen (how the hell all three of us presided over various cooking projects at once, I will never know) or at least of the carbo-kingdom spread we laid out afterwards, but alas for my lack of forethought! Therefore, I will say only that it was one of the better breakfasts I've had this side of 2005. Carbs and glucose were consumed by all in great abundance before the village clock struck eight, whereupon I cleaned, Chrigl slept, and Carrie took the kids for a walk to their Grandmother's house to put the last of their summer stuff in the storage barn.
By the time we all reconvened I was sure there would be no need for food again for a long time, but when Jamie and Raina's friends from school came over and all showed sighs of being bored I jumped at the chance to distract them with a little culinary adventure. The objective: tarts.
The boys seemed more hungry than excited so I sent them out to the garden to gather the last of the blackberries and raspberries while I scraped together a pie crust recipe from various cookbooks and, with the help of Raina and her friend Joanna, made some respectable muffin-tin sized rounds by the time the boys returned with the vestiges of their berry-picking. It was hard enough trying to sweeten and reduce the meager harvest without prior experience, but doing so in the company of four kids under 10 was nearly impossible---or so I thought. Miraculously, we managed to produce four respectable looking tarts (two having succumbed to the wrath of Jamie and his friend Enzo's over-eagerness to remove them from the muffin tin, and thereby turning them into unrecognizable globs of redish-black jelly flecked with pastry. These, though not beautiful, were no less delicious, or so I'm told.) The surviving pastries were distributed to each child to top as they pleased, resulting in one cream, one shaved chocolate, one sugar, and one with sweetened condensed milk being presented to Mami and Papi as an afternoon surprise. Carrie ate her sugared one with pride while Chrigl manfully endured the condensed milk and pronounced Jamie's creation "a real triumph" while I shook with silent laughter and packed the other two up to be taken home to neighboring mothers and fathers.
The remainder of the afternoon was spent out of doors, with me alternating between throwing a baseball with Chrigl and Jamie, then sketching landscapes with Carrie and Raina. As the sun began to set and the cold stole in around us I figured I should start dinner before it got too dark, but Carrie stopped me and said that as tonight was a celebration of sorts (that of Chrigl's return and Carrie's three-week anniversary of being hospital-free) we were going on a family outing. I became more and more excited and intrigued as heavy winter clothes, flashlights, and matches started to appear. Uninformed but eager, I suited up in my warmest gear, donned a head lamp, found Raina's hand in mine, and the five of us set off into the wilderness.
After about a 25 minute walk up and away from the town of Malix we arrived at a remote farm with a covered out-building, beside which I could see a fire already blazing. Even from a distance the sound of hearty voices carried into our midst and I felt the cold of the night surrender to the powers of warmth and good cheer. Once seated around the fire I was introduced to Paulo, a older farmer and family friend of Chrigl's; his wife Ruth, their son Karl, a man of about 35, and their granddaughter Juliana, who said to me in near-perfect English, " I'm thirteen and I love Nick Jonas. Do you know him?" One of the funnier conversations of my life. Hurrah for being American, I guess?
Introductions were followed by drinks that seemed to materialize out of nowhere, for I could see no chest or cooler from whence they came. Still having little to no knowledge of German food and drink I simply smiled and nodded when Paulo offered me an unknown liquid from a stoneware blue and white jug. Chrigl mumbled the word "Apfelwein" to me and when I was handed an enormous mug of cold, fizzy-looking cider I nodded again and raised my mug to toast with the others before taking a long pull of the most delicious beverage known to man. Seriously. I think Jameson and Malibu have been officially unhorsed by a barrel of Swiss apple juice. Man, do I love Switzerland!
Dinner had been simmering over the fire since before we arrived--another local treat. Now, I had had the pleasure of enjoying Carrie's homemade fondu a few weeks before in the comfort of home, but I can now say that nothing beats the sweet, almost smokey taste of melted raclette, gruyere and whole cloves of garlic over fire-baked potatoes with pan rustica and pears. Between eight of us, we killed two boiling pots of fondu and more than three loaves of bread (all the better to soak up the apfelwein for the walk home, so I was told,) and yet we somehow made room for a brick or two of simple, solid Swiss chocolate for dessert, plus coca for the kids and apple Schnapps for the grown-ups to help us home, though we stayed around the fire for a good hour or more after all the drinks were dry. The three kids talking animatedly about their favorite Jonas Brother's songs, the adults discussing hunting season and tourism and Carrie's recovery, while I sat happily on the sidelines of each group, content to listen and absorb. (Though my speaking is still virtually nonexistent, I can usually pick up enough to understand what is being said around me in German. Usually.)
By the time we rose to return home night had fallen in earnest, yet we opted to take the long way home, meandering here and there through the dense forrest, headlamps bobbing as various members took it in turns to sing German folk songs or old camp classics (I resorted to Ode to Joy when called upon to sing in the local vernacular...obviously I drank to much cider...) The light of the little house was nevertheless a welcome sight by the end of the walk, Raina heavy in my arms and Jamie beginning to snore into Chrigl's shoulder. Laughing soundlessly, the three adults disrobed and put to bed two shockingly acquiescent children before nodding off ourselves.
It was a great day.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Remember, Remember
...the fifth of November.
*That's Guy Fawkes Day (a.k.a. Bonfire Night) for those of you who missed out on nursery rhyme education.
And man oh man, do I wish I was in a pub in London right about now! Cause really, what's not to love about burning a historical traitor in effigy while marching all over London and singing God Save the Queen at the top of your voice while the grog flows in the streets?
But I guess I'll just have to settle for an evening spent around a backyard campfire with children for company instead of party-goers, stars instead of airborne explosives, Raclette instead of a Cornish pasty, the Sanborn songbook instead of God Save the Queen, and a little Schnapps instead of a pint of bitter.
I think I'll take it.
*That's Guy Fawkes Day (a.k.a. Bonfire Night) for those of you who missed out on nursery rhyme education.
And man oh man, do I wish I was in a pub in London right about now! Cause really, what's not to love about burning a historical traitor in effigy while marching all over London and singing God Save the Queen at the top of your voice while the grog flows in the streets?
But I guess I'll just have to settle for an evening spent around a backyard campfire with children for company instead of party-goers, stars instead of airborne explosives, Raclette instead of a Cornish pasty, the Sanborn songbook instead of God Save the Queen, and a little Schnapps instead of a pint of bitter.
I think I'll take it.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Waxing Nostalgic; or, 22 Happy Thoughts
Blame the time of year if you want;
fall is synonymous with academia in my mind.
Or blame the weather if you choose;
crisp days and clear, cold nights
that necessitate baking
and huddling near a fire are bound to result in daydreaming.
Or, if you like, blame the girl with too much time on her hands...umm, me.
Either way, I'll admit to recently devoting a good many hours to the occupation of reminiscing. (Such a lovely word, don't you think?) For in this crazy, mixed-up, unfriendly world that is the reality of post-graduate life, I am often tempted to belittle my college experience. And yet, after pouring over old e-mails and letter, photographs and cards, I remind myself that my time at Whitworth really did gift me with three of the happiest years of my life.
Cause really, where else could you find and experience these wonderful things, all in the one place?
-Traditiation (True, it wasn't what I would have picked for myself as a first semester freshmen, but I enjoyed it immensely each year thereafter...Perhaps that is the point?)
-French Dip day (Wednesday, Friday, whateverday. The only thing that matters is the artery-clogging goodness.)
-Life in Arend (RD Tim Caldwell saved my life, among other favors, but I was also blessed to live among some of the most amazing people I have ever known. Regan and Addie; my amazing roomie Michelle; Caroline, Tiffany and Merideth, three girls who could brighten the darkest of days; Devin, one of my all time favorite humans; "the guys" full of humor and unending kindness; Calli, kick-ass Montanan; and so many others. Two good years filled with cookies, dance parties, movie-marathons, all-night cram sessions, all night chats, and plenty of laughs. Y'all rock.)
-Core (for allowing me to enjoy and hate and love and learn, all without leaving the B-Rob teaching theatre...and introducing me to the brilliance of Leonard and Forrest.)
-Dr. Death (thus establishing the groundwork for building relationships based on mutual fear of and determination to survive life as an English Major. We did it Sam!!!)
-The Writing Center (built in homework time, help when I panicked, money enough to keep me in cereal for a month, and some of the best times of my life. The stories shared and laughs had in that ridiculous little fishbowl will bring me pleasure for years to come. Oh, and I learned a lot too. I swear, I did actually work there some of the time...)
-Christmas (Nothing says "holidays at Whitworth" like punch and pot-stickers with B-Rob...Unless it's truffles, story-time and caroling at Leonard's.)
-Leonard Oakland (Fountain of knowledge. Master of Core lectures. Teller of seemingly-off-topic tales. Teacher of Russian Literature and Homeric Epic. Renaissance man and friend.)
-BISP (Three of the best months of my life, spend in the company of over a dozen of the coolest people I know. I saw the Globe, made friends with mice in the West End, went to Wales--does anyone know why?--fell down an ancient Roman wall atop Devin Rourke, ate many, many kebabs, followed a tall red-headed man around every country in the UK, fell in love with Oxford, experienced theatre through Les Mis, Fringe, and even a little of our own making, and made some memories to last a lifetime in my favorite city in the world.)
-Pemberley (I had the pleasure of living in the company of five of the most amazing girls I've ever known, with whom I enjoyed the greatness of life in Plano, the terror of 24, the culture of Robin Hood and countless other BBC gems, 'hide and discover' with Edward, induction into the S.M.C., fabulous family dinners, themed house parties, and innumerable other Austen-esque adventures.)
-The chance to try new (good) things (whether it be guitar lessons, learning to truly enjoy a science class or discussing theology over a cup of coffee with a professor, I was able to test myself and experience academia in a way that challenged and enriched me as a person. Take that, state school greek system!)
- The Vagina Monologues (while on the subject of new things, I had the pleasure of reading in the VMs two years running, something I would never have been brave enough to do in High School, and an experience that educated and enlightened me immensely.)
-Ivanhoe, Round Two (by the time I did the VMs a second time I was living with another group of wonderful ladies who share their skills, personalities, and opinions with intelligence and grace, for which I love and respect each one of them. As a house we spent our time reading and studying, talking and venting, cooking and thrifting, laughing and loving and affirming. It was a nice way to spend Senior year, to say the least.)
-Jan Term (While I don't actually have the best memories of my first three Jan terms, during my senior year I basically went exploring around London with friends, some new and some old, for the length of a month. I had one of the best birthdays of my life. I hopped a train with friends to Paris. Aubrey and I discovered how Russians stay warm in winter. I stalked Marks & Spencer, partly for the food, and partly for the heat. I felt even more in love with London.)
-Road-tripping (Not only did the NULC trip to Utah give me the chance to hang out with some of my favorite English majors for a long weekend, but being in Ogden--of all places!--seemed like Mecca for a literature geek. And we met some really crazy, passionate nuts just like us. Nice to know you're not alone in this world...thanks, Lindsay Johnson.)
-Vic Bobb's Reading List (Thanks to which I have read more obscure and awesome books than I knew were in existence...and saved myself the trouble of reading "classics" for as long as I can help it.)
-Running Bloomsday (...and the morning after breakfast, compliments of Biff's amazing mom! The race was a pain, but I'm glad I had the local experience and that I was able to cross the finish line hand-in-hand with beloved friends. I'll be content if I can finish another of life's races holding those same hands.)
-A Final Summer in Spokane (Once enveloped within the community of the Pine Cone Curtain it is hard to leave, and I had the indescribable pleasure of a slow departure from Whitworth over the course of this past summer, this time with a third and totally awesome bunch of gals in my Ivan-home. The BBQs, Fo-Yo, nights of berry picking, cooking adventures with Julie, dance parties, movie nights with Lauren--a la Joe Versus the Volcano!--and countless hours reading, talking, laughing and roasting treats on the porch were fantastic good fun.)
-People ( You know that annoying video on the home page that asks students and faculty what their favorite thing is about campus? Well, 90% of the answers to that question are the same, and all of them amount to roughly the following: "I love the people. I love the community. I love the relationships I have made here. When I leave I'm going to miss the people....etc." The culture of Whitworth, like any other place on this earth, is a manifestation of its inhabitance. The people make the place, just as a family makes a home. Thankfully, I had a pretty great one to begin with and it has been made all the more wonderful through the addition of you "people."
Thanks for reading. And thanks for being you, dear reader.
fall is synonymous with academia in my mind.
Or blame the weather if you choose;
crisp days and clear, cold nights
that necessitate baking
and huddling near a fire are bound to result in daydreaming.
Or, if you like, blame the girl with too much time on her hands...umm, me.
Cause really, where else could you find and experience these wonderful things, all in the one place?
-Traditiation (True, it wasn't what I would have picked for myself as a first semester freshmen, but I enjoyed it immensely each year thereafter...Perhaps that is the point?)
-French Dip day (Wednesday, Friday, whateverday. The only thing that matters is the artery-clogging goodness.)
-Life in Arend (RD Tim Caldwell saved my life, among other favors, but I was also blessed to live among some of the most amazing people I have ever known. Regan and Addie; my amazing roomie Michelle; Caroline, Tiffany and Merideth, three girls who could brighten the darkest of days; Devin, one of my all time favorite humans; "the guys" full of humor and unending kindness; Calli, kick-ass Montanan; and so many others. Two good years filled with cookies, dance parties, movie-marathons, all-night cram sessions, all night chats, and plenty of laughs. Y'all rock.)
-Core (for allowing me to enjoy and hate and love and learn, all without leaving the B-Rob teaching theatre...and introducing me to the brilliance of Leonard and Forrest.)
-Dr. Death (thus establishing the groundwork for building relationships based on mutual fear of and determination to survive life as an English Major. We did it Sam!!!)
-The Writing Center (built in homework time, help when I panicked, money enough to keep me in cereal for a month, and some of the best times of my life. The stories shared and laughs had in that ridiculous little fishbowl will bring me pleasure for years to come. Oh, and I learned a lot too. I swear, I did actually work there some of the time...)
-Christmas (Nothing says "holidays at Whitworth" like punch and pot-stickers with B-Rob...Unless it's truffles, story-time and caroling at Leonard's.)
-Leonard Oakland (Fountain of knowledge. Master of Core lectures. Teller of seemingly-off-topic tales. Teacher of Russian Literature and Homeric Epic. Renaissance man and friend.)
-BISP (Three of the best months of my life, spend in the company of over a dozen of the coolest people I know. I saw the Globe, made friends with mice in the West End, went to Wales--does anyone know why?--fell down an ancient Roman wall atop Devin Rourke, ate many, many kebabs, followed a tall red-headed man around every country in the UK, fell in love with Oxford, experienced theatre through Les Mis, Fringe, and even a little of our own making, and made some memories to last a lifetime in my favorite city in the world.)
-Pemberley (I had the pleasure of living in the company of five of the most amazing girls I've ever known, with whom I enjoyed the greatness of life in Plano, the terror of 24, the culture of Robin Hood and countless other BBC gems, 'hide and discover' with Edward, induction into the S.M.C., fabulous family dinners, themed house parties, and innumerable other Austen-esque adventures.)
-The chance to try new (good) things (whether it be guitar lessons, learning to truly enjoy a science class or discussing theology over a cup of coffee with a professor, I was able to test myself and experience academia in a way that challenged and enriched me as a person. Take that, state school greek system!)
- The Vagina Monologues (while on the subject of new things, I had the pleasure of reading in the VMs two years running, something I would never have been brave enough to do in High School, and an experience that educated and enlightened me immensely.)
-Ivanhoe, Round Two (by the time I did the VMs a second time I was living with another group of wonderful ladies who share their skills, personalities, and opinions with intelligence and grace, for which I love and respect each one of them. As a house we spent our time reading and studying, talking and venting, cooking and thrifting, laughing and loving and affirming. It was a nice way to spend Senior year, to say the least.)
-Jan Term (While I don't actually have the best memories of my first three Jan terms, during my senior year I basically went exploring around London with friends, some new and some old, for the length of a month. I had one of the best birthdays of my life. I hopped a train with friends to Paris. Aubrey and I discovered how Russians stay warm in winter. I stalked Marks & Spencer, partly for the food, and partly for the heat. I felt even more in love with London.)
-Road-tripping (Not only did the NULC trip to Utah give me the chance to hang out with some of my favorite English majors for a long weekend, but being in Ogden--of all places!--seemed like Mecca for a literature geek. And we met some really crazy, passionate nuts just like us. Nice to know you're not alone in this world...thanks, Lindsay Johnson.)
-Vic Bobb's Reading List (Thanks to which I have read more obscure and awesome books than I knew were in existence...and saved myself the trouble of reading "classics" for as long as I can help it.)
-Vic Bobb (Mentor. Teacher. Friend. Father. Writer. Poet. Artist. Provider of Bob Dylan CDs. Wearer of Beatles ties. Drinker of gallons of coffee out of the never-been-washed Corn Maze mug. Watcher of pointless yet awesome YouTube videos. Reader and recommender of GREAT books. Waster of time to rival college students. Teacher of Poe in the depths of winter. Dog lover. Pullman native. Supporter of hitch-hikers and road-trip-takers. Fiction writer. Dream chaser. Asylum giver. Moby-Dick lover. Wisdom dispenser. All around great man.)
-Pleasant Blends (Hug-in-a-Mug. Need I say more?)
-Ground Crew (I had the honor of working for and making friends with the people who keep Whitworth looking nice for pictures and parents. I've never worked harder, loved a job more, or had more fun getting up before sunrise to spend time with a bunch of friendly, skilled, helpful folks.)
-Running Bloomsday (...and the morning after breakfast, compliments of Biff's amazing mom! The race was a pain, but I'm glad I had the local experience and that I was able to cross the finish line hand-in-hand with beloved friends. I'll be content if I can finish another of life's races holding those same hands.)
-A Final Summer in Spokane (Once enveloped within the community of the Pine Cone Curtain it is hard to leave, and I had the indescribable pleasure of a slow departure from Whitworth over the course of this past summer, this time with a third and totally awesome bunch of gals in my Ivan-home. The BBQs, Fo-Yo, nights of berry picking, cooking adventures with Julie, dance parties, movie nights with Lauren--a la Joe Versus the Volcano!--and countless hours reading, talking, laughing and roasting treats on the porch were fantastic good fun.)
-People ( You know that annoying video on the home page that asks students and faculty what their favorite thing is about campus? Well, 90% of the answers to that question are the same, and all of them amount to roughly the following: "I love the people. I love the community. I love the relationships I have made here. When I leave I'm going to miss the people....etc." The culture of Whitworth, like any other place on this earth, is a manifestation of its inhabitance. The people make the place, just as a family makes a home. Thankfully, I had a pretty great one to begin with and it has been made all the more wonderful through the addition of you "people."
Thanks for reading. And thanks for being you, dear reader.
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