Today was supposed to be a day of lasts. Last time to wake up to pitch-black and silence in my queen-sized bed in the basement, last time to stumble up the stairs and look out at that faded bluebird house in our front yard, last time to sit down at the kitchen table and eat two of Mom's homemade blueberry-banana muffins. It was the last full day I'd spend in Illinois, since my parents are moving to near Cincinatti, Ohio by the end of the summer.
Waking up this morning, I thought I could mull around the house, the vegetable garden, the flower garden, and the woods, all for nostalgia's sake and for the fact that I'd spent the last fifteen years of my life at this house.
How wrong I was.
As we were walking out the door to church, my mom accidentally dropped her phone straight into my German shepherd's water bowl. I watched the whole thing take place: Mom was clasping her pink phone with her index finger and her pinky because she didn't have a pocket to put it in and her nail polish was still drying.
She was saying goodbye to my dad when the phone slipped out of her grasp and fell right into the only water-filled container--outside of our lake--within ten acres.
It wasn't Mom's fault, of course. But the little pink phone died immediately and, since we were going to be gone for the rest of the week, Dad decided that we had to go get her a new phone in the afternoon.
I didn't think much about it at the time. Rachel, Mom, and I went to church and listened to Robbie Grigg's sermon. We headed to nursery duty afterward and organized a quick Veggie Tale-themed dance party with 2-year-olds Micah, Andrew, William, and Audrey. We then hit up the Art Museum for a fast perusal of the Ansel Adams photography of Yosemite Valley. We stuffed our faces at the House of India. By then it was going on 2:30, and I really wanted to make the 45-minute trek home to take a nap.
Instead, we ended up in Wood River, Illinois at a Sprint store. Of all the places I didn't want to be on my day of lasts, Wood River was at the top of the list. The town consists of an oil refinery that resembles Mordor of Lord of the Rings fame, a few boarded-up gas stations and grocery stores, rows of tiny, box-shaped houses, and a herd of glowing, radioactive deer that roam the streets.
It smells like oil, coal, and factories. Needless to say, I'm not a fan.
Right when we pulled into the parking lot, I wanted to hijack my Mom's CRV and speed my way home. And I would have, had I not been honest enough to my mom to let her know that I had left my driver's license at home.
I envisioned myself standing in the Sprint store for the next two hours, watching some overly peppy salesperson try to sell my parents the most expensive model in the place. That was not what I wanted to do on my day of lasts.
Once Mom put the CRV into park, I basically leapt out of the car and started speed-walking down to the road. I was heading straight for the gargantuan Super Walmart on the other side of the road; I was not interested all in gazing at phones for an hour.
It was appalling to find that there were no sidewalks and that I had to walk right beside the gutter.
(Statistics show that Saint Louis is one of the more obese and under-exercised cities in the United States. Hmm, I wonder why. Maybe because people are petrified of getting hit by oncoming traffic?)
I cringed as big semi-trucks roared past and an SUV almost grazed me. However, I managed to make it in one piece through two lights and up the long, winding road to the biggest Walmart I've ever been in.
What a great day to have left my cell phone and my purse at home. I mostly just walked up and down the aisles, looking at flashy discount clothes and dishware to pass the time. I looked at the price of a 12-cup coffee maker, made fish faces at the fish aquarium, and wished that I had brought my purse when I found a pair of wine goblets on sale.
The entire time, I was making a mental list of all the things I could have been doing at home. Going through my two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and downsizing, picking green beans in my garden, taking a nap, reading my book...
I started the trek back across the highway when Rachel met up with me in the CRV.
"Thought I'd come find you," she said.
Ironic how she was driving the car without a license even though Mom said that neither of us should. Rachel and I ended up parking the car in the Sprint parking lot, listening to music on the radio, and talking to pass the time.
What was meant to be my day of lasts ended up being just another day in the River Bend area. I don't know why I expected more out of it; just because I've lived here for so long doesn't mean that I get to have an entire day dedicated to a royal goodbye.
Mom and Dad ended up with the two most high-tech cell phones of all five of us. I ended up cleaning out my chest of drawers and throwing away three bags' full of paper. None of us got a nap, but at least it made for a memorable last day.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Recap: 45-Minute Airplane Trip.
With three-and-a-half hours of sleep under my belt and a pounding headache, I boarded the 10:20 flight from Omaha to Saint Louis this morning. I passed rows of staring passengers as I made my way to the back of the plane, the first line of Jay-Z’s “99 Problems” buzzing around in my head for who knows what reason. I picked a window seat toward the back row, far enough away from the wing and jet engines to see a view.
The plane was supposed to be packed, since it was en route to Orlando. And sure enough, a woman with grey eyes sat down in the aisle seat nearby, smiling and saying hello as she shoved her bag under the seat. I watched the passengers slowly make their way down the aisle: a woman with three kids, a bleach-blonde teenage girl with a scowl plastered on her face, a businessman talking on his cell phone. The next guy resembled a Rastafarian, with his Bob Marley t-shirt and a thick black beard that stuck out from his chin. I kept reading my book as he walked by.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked the woman.
“No, not at all,” she said, standing up to let him in. I didn’t look up as he sat down; I just kept peering out the window at the airline workers as they loaded the bags into the plane.
The woman pulled out a Sudoku puzzle, the Rasta-looking man put in his headphones, I jotted down some qualms I had with The Time Traveler’s Wife. We all made sure that our seatbelts were on and our seatbacks were in their full and upright positions. The airplane taxied out to the runway, the Loess Hills towering in the background.
“Are you from around here?” asked the woman.
“No,” said Rasta. “I’m originally from Florida. I’ve been working up here setting up cell phone towers for the last few months.”
The woman giggled. “Oh, that sounds so exciting!” she cooed.
Here we go, I thought. Bad flirting attempts, and the plane wasn’t even off the ground yet. I stared out the window, as the plane accelerated down the runway.
“Yeah, I’ve been all over these northern states since March,” he said. “North Dakota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Nebraska. Basically any town that has one gas station, one restaurant, and one road. Haven’t spent much time in bigger cities.”
The woman nodded eagerly. I turn the page of my book, pretending to be interested in it.
“It’s never been as cold for me as it was this winter,” he said. “Hell, I’m from Bombay, and it never gets below sixty degrees there. And then I had to get used to that -40 degree weather. I was in Iowa in April when it went from 85 one day to being 10 degrees and snowing the next day. Hoped that I could get off of work, but they made me go in anyway.”
“That’s too bad,” said the woman.
The two passengers talked for a while as the flight attendant made her way to our row. “Would you like something to drink?” she said.
“Cranberry juice,” I said.
“I’ll have the same,” said the man. “But I’d like some vodka with it.”
He pulled out his wallet and tried to give the attendant a five dollar bill. “We only take credit card here,” said the flight attendant.
He handed her a credit card which the attendant swiped on her portable credit card machine but could not get to work. The woman next to him reached for her purse.
“Here,” she said, pulling out her credit card. “Let me get it. It’s only five bucks.”
He thanked her by giving her five dollars in cash. The tower builder took his vodka and cranberry juice and set it on his tray. He didn’t bother to touch it the entire trip. Granted, our trip was 45 minutes long, but not even a sip? What a waste.
As we were getting ready to land, the pilot flew the plane over downtown Saint Louis. I looked out the window to see if I could see the Arch. I turned around and saw the Rasta man staring at me.
“I wasn’t staring at you, don’t worry,” he said. “Just the view.”
Smooth. I shrugged and looked back outside.
“So, are you from Florida originally?” asked the woman.
“I was born in Germany, grew up in Central America, moved to Florida for elementary school,” he said. “Was in the Air Force for a while, got all the benefits I could and got out of there.”
I put my book back in my purse. It’s funny who you can meet on a short flight.
The plane was supposed to be packed, since it was en route to Orlando. And sure enough, a woman with grey eyes sat down in the aisle seat nearby, smiling and saying hello as she shoved her bag under the seat. I watched the passengers slowly make their way down the aisle: a woman with three kids, a bleach-blonde teenage girl with a scowl plastered on her face, a businessman talking on his cell phone. The next guy resembled a Rastafarian, with his Bob Marley t-shirt and a thick black beard that stuck out from his chin. I kept reading my book as he walked by.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked the woman.
“No, not at all,” she said, standing up to let him in. I didn’t look up as he sat down; I just kept peering out the window at the airline workers as they loaded the bags into the plane.
The woman pulled out a Sudoku puzzle, the Rasta-looking man put in his headphones, I jotted down some qualms I had with The Time Traveler’s Wife. We all made sure that our seatbelts were on and our seatbacks were in their full and upright positions. The airplane taxied out to the runway, the Loess Hills towering in the background.
“Are you from around here?” asked the woman.
“No,” said Rasta. “I’m originally from Florida. I’ve been working up here setting up cell phone towers for the last few months.”
The woman giggled. “Oh, that sounds so exciting!” she cooed.
Here we go, I thought. Bad flirting attempts, and the plane wasn’t even off the ground yet. I stared out the window, as the plane accelerated down the runway.
“Yeah, I’ve been all over these northern states since March,” he said. “North Dakota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Nebraska. Basically any town that has one gas station, one restaurant, and one road. Haven’t spent much time in bigger cities.”
The woman nodded eagerly. I turn the page of my book, pretending to be interested in it.
“It’s never been as cold for me as it was this winter,” he said. “Hell, I’m from Bombay, and it never gets below sixty degrees there. And then I had to get used to that -40 degree weather. I was in Iowa in April when it went from 85 one day to being 10 degrees and snowing the next day. Hoped that I could get off of work, but they made me go in anyway.”
“That’s too bad,” said the woman.
The two passengers talked for a while as the flight attendant made her way to our row. “Would you like something to drink?” she said.
“Cranberry juice,” I said.
“I’ll have the same,” said the man. “But I’d like some vodka with it.”
He pulled out his wallet and tried to give the attendant a five dollar bill. “We only take credit card here,” said the flight attendant.
He handed her a credit card which the attendant swiped on her portable credit card machine but could not get to work. The woman next to him reached for her purse.
“Here,” she said, pulling out her credit card. “Let me get it. It’s only five bucks.”
He thanked her by giving her five dollars in cash. The tower builder took his vodka and cranberry juice and set it on his tray. He didn’t bother to touch it the entire trip. Granted, our trip was 45 minutes long, but not even a sip? What a waste.
As we were getting ready to land, the pilot flew the plane over downtown Saint Louis. I looked out the window to see if I could see the Arch. I turned around and saw the Rasta man staring at me.
“I wasn’t staring at you, don’t worry,” he said. “Just the view.”
Smooth. I shrugged and looked back outside.
“So, are you from Florida originally?” asked the woman.
“I was born in Germany, grew up in Central America, moved to Florida for elementary school,” he said. “Was in the Air Force for a while, got all the benefits I could and got out of there.”
I put my book back in my purse. It’s funny who you can meet on a short flight.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Dordt Discovery Days.
Summertime has begun to get away from me, and I haven't written as much as I would like to have so far.
This week, some of my friends and I have been serving as glorified babysitters/foster parents for 207 middle school kids on campus. We are counselors, hostesses, and assistants at Dordt Discovery Days, a summer camp designed to expose these kids to the inter-workings and wonders that are part of Dordt College. When registering, the kids could choose from a variety of courses, including "Design on a Dime" or "Up, Up, and Away." Sciences, art, English, computer science--no matter what the student's penchant for learning, he or she can find an easy outlet at DDD.
I have been assigned to help teach two classes: "GameMaker 7" and "Cooking with Karen." Cooking has been the simplest of the two: each day we make a different course, including snack, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert. There are eighteen kids in the course, and most of them are easy to work with. One is rather hyperactive and won't sit still for longer than a minute.
A group of them is rather cliquish, too. At the end of the day, Karen and I always award the "Golden Spoon" to a cook who has exhibited either the messiest apron, the best apron, and other awards. At one point, the cliquish group voted to give the Golden Spoon to a kid that was absent that day.
Other than that, the cooking class has gone well. We've made Houdini pancakes, peach smoothies, tuna melts, and a whole assortment of things. Today we make supper; it should be tasty.
The GameMaker 7 course was laughable at best from the start. I am inexperienced in the ways of computers, so having to help twenty little boys create a computer game has been quite a trip. I feel as if I'm in charge of six boys, especially; they are easily distracted and get off-course pretty fast. They are always asking me questions like "can I blow up that mountain?" or "how do I create fifty enemies at once? I want my plane to EXPLODE!" I just chuckle and try to keep them from listening to too many Nelly or Lil Wayne music videos while the teacher isn't looking.
Discovery Days has been quite an adventure so far, and I've looked forward to it every day. Too bad it ends tomorrow.
This week, some of my friends and I have been serving as glorified babysitters/foster parents for 207 middle school kids on campus. We are counselors, hostesses, and assistants at Dordt Discovery Days, a summer camp designed to expose these kids to the inter-workings and wonders that are part of Dordt College. When registering, the kids could choose from a variety of courses, including "Design on a Dime" or "Up, Up, and Away." Sciences, art, English, computer science--no matter what the student's penchant for learning, he or she can find an easy outlet at DDD.
I have been assigned to help teach two classes: "GameMaker 7" and "Cooking with Karen." Cooking has been the simplest of the two: each day we make a different course, including snack, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert. There are eighteen kids in the course, and most of them are easy to work with. One is rather hyperactive and won't sit still for longer than a minute.
A group of them is rather cliquish, too. At the end of the day, Karen and I always award the "Golden Spoon" to a cook who has exhibited either the messiest apron, the best apron, and other awards. At one point, the cliquish group voted to give the Golden Spoon to a kid that was absent that day.
Other than that, the cooking class has gone well. We've made Houdini pancakes, peach smoothies, tuna melts, and a whole assortment of things. Today we make supper; it should be tasty.
The GameMaker 7 course was laughable at best from the start. I am inexperienced in the ways of computers, so having to help twenty little boys create a computer game has been quite a trip. I feel as if I'm in charge of six boys, especially; they are easily distracted and get off-course pretty fast. They are always asking me questions like "can I blow up that mountain?" or "how do I create fifty enemies at once? I want my plane to EXPLODE!" I just chuckle and try to keep them from listening to too many Nelly or Lil Wayne music videos while the teacher isn't looking.
Discovery Days has been quite an adventure so far, and I've looked forward to it every day. Too bad it ends tomorrow.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Job security.
Job security has never been an issue for me. Since I was a junior in high school, I have worked as a checker at Park N Shop. It wasn't a glamourous job--and it didn't pay much--but at least I had a steady income coming in. When I went to college, Park N Shop became my fallback job, a place where I could pick up odd hours when I wasn't taking a French class or working at my newspaper internship.
In November, Park N Shop closed its doors for the last time. My mom was not happy that she would now have to travel fifteen minutes to pick up a gallon of milk or a dozen eggs. Many of the co-workers were sad to see the old place close up after 40 years. I was focusing on passing my classes and maintaining my social life; I just shrugged my shoulders when one co-worker sent me the text saying "Park N Shop is gone forever now." I had dreams of summer waitressing or working at Barnes and Noble anyway.
March rolled around, and I had limited prospects for summer jobs. My sister had searched all spring break for work, a search that seemed fruitless. No one was hiring full time workers, let alone part time college kids who would leave by the end of August.
Enter nearly 4,000 Voice surveys. The Voice, a college publication that I write for during the school year, sent out nearly 23,000 surveys to its readers. The Advancement Office ended up with two boxes' worth of surveys, not including the online ones that were submitted. They were in need of someone to sort through all these surveys and input data into the computer.
"All those Voice surveys are job security," one Advancement Office worker said.
And they are right. I may complain about the job sometimes, and occasionally the work does get tedious. But for the most part, I'm just glad to have a job. Many people I know are still jobless this summer, while I get the chance to hang out with my friends and make money.
I have never appreciated job security so much.
In November, Park N Shop closed its doors for the last time. My mom was not happy that she would now have to travel fifteen minutes to pick up a gallon of milk or a dozen eggs. Many of the co-workers were sad to see the old place close up after 40 years. I was focusing on passing my classes and maintaining my social life; I just shrugged my shoulders when one co-worker sent me the text saying "Park N Shop is gone forever now." I had dreams of summer waitressing or working at Barnes and Noble anyway.
March rolled around, and I had limited prospects for summer jobs. My sister had searched all spring break for work, a search that seemed fruitless. No one was hiring full time workers, let alone part time college kids who would leave by the end of August.
Enter nearly 4,000 Voice surveys. The Voice, a college publication that I write for during the school year, sent out nearly 23,000 surveys to its readers. The Advancement Office ended up with two boxes' worth of surveys, not including the online ones that were submitted. They were in need of someone to sort through all these surveys and input data into the computer.
"All those Voice surveys are job security," one Advancement Office worker said.
And they are right. I may complain about the job sometimes, and occasionally the work does get tedious. But for the most part, I'm just glad to have a job. Many people I know are still jobless this summer, while I get the chance to hang out with my friends and make money.
I have never appreciated job security so much.
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