In which frozen foods are discovered to be surprisingly tasty.

Now Playing: The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King soundtrack by Howard Shore. Track 17, "The Return of the King".

Ooh, look! All the commentors suddenly came out of the woodwork! I'll have to try short funny posts more often.... *grin*

Sorry to disappoint, but this will not be a short post (probably), nor will it (most likely) be funny.

To start the depressing tale, I have a cold. Not a dreadful knock-down-drag-out cold like the one I had most of last semester, but a measly little beast that makes me sniffle all through my classes and makes my flute sound fuzzy when I try to practice. It was frightened away for a little while this morning with a large mug of chamomile tea (courtesy Robin W.) and a thick slice of Laura's sweet sticky challah bread while I wrote e-mails and studied. I slogged through Lyric class, having a rather difficult time paying attention.

So after class I tried to console myself with some flute practice, but that wasn't much better. Though the Bach Sonata in E Minor makes me happy no end whenever I play it. After practicing for an hour, I went to the caf for lunch, and sat with Nicole, Rachel, Amy, Kathryn, Leslie, Spencer, and others.

After lunch, I studied for awhile, and then went to British Novels at two o'clock. Amanda usually sits next to me, and while the class is getting settled down, we always have pleasant little conversations together. I had a difficult time paying attention in class because I was dreadfully tired. After class ended, A.C., Amanda, and I walked together as far as the gym. Amanda then went to her apartment, but A.C. and I went into the gym together--she for a cup of coffee, I for a brisk jog. I listened to the third sermon by Pastor Edward Donnelly on Hebrews 12:1-2. Excellent sermons. Every time there's a particularly vivid point that catches my mind's eye and gives me something to ponder on and wonder at for the rest of the day. Today it was Christ as priest again. Pastor Donnelly talked about how the High Priest would go behind the veil, and about how the Jews appreciated the High Priest greatly when he was unseen. But they rejoiced most when he returned from behind the veil because it meant that he had lived in the presence of God. Pastor Donnelly talked about how Christ is our High Priest behind the veil, making intercession for us, and about how we should delight in Him though He is unseen. But Christ will be seen again, will come resplendent from behind the veil, and then we shall see Him as He is.

After I ran, as I was climbing the stairs to the room, I met Rachel coming down the stairs. She was going running herself. We greeted each other cheerily in passing.

I showered, and then called Tara. She sounded sleepy on the phone, and I winced, realizing that I'd woken her from a nap. Nevertheless, I hurried downstairs and drove over to the Penthouse. "Sorry! I guess I woke you up!" I apologized as she hopped into the car. "That's what you were supposed to do," she chuckled. We drove over to the Albertsons on fifteenth street to buy food to take to Esther's house for supper this evening. The Albertsons on fifteenth street is what I call the "candy land" Albertsons. The walls are decorated with big colorful cut-outs of cats and dogs and candy and stuffed animals, etc., and the signs over the aisles are in bright ice cream colors, and the different departments are all labeled with their own large canopies. It's like being in a child's picture book or in a dollhouse--oversized bread and candy and vegetables and fruit hanging overhead. We went to the frozen foods section. Tara chose a Freschetta pepperoni pizza for supper. Our main purpose, however (being good little hobbits :o), was to buy dessert. We chose two packets of frozen, pre-cut cookie dough: one packet of peanut butter and chocolate cookies, and one packet of caramel-chocolate-walnut cookies. The grand total of this extravagant affair turned out to be ten dollars and thirty-eight cents. With our grocery bag in hand, we marched out of the store and drove back to campus to pick up Alisha, who wanted to come visit Esther, too.

The three of us drove down to Esther's apartment at fifty-first and Yale. For those of you who have never had the exhilarating experience *cough* of driving on the surface streets in Tulsa, you're not exactly able to break land speed records getting from one place to another. We were able to go the speed limit until the first place where the Broken Arrow Expressway crosses the surface roads, and then we stopped and sat for awhile... and sat... and sat.... The same process had to be replicated at the next crossing. More sitting.... The endless rhythmic flicker of brake lights from the long line of cars in head of us, and the tangled snarl of traffic that always seems just barely to avoid gridlock. We reached forty-first street, and Tara called Esther to tell her to turn the oven on. "We'll be five minutes!" she chirped cheerily. I laughed wryly--it took us about ten minutes before we were pulling into the parking lot behind the apartment complex where Esther lives.

The three of us climbed the narrow, rickety flight of stairs to the second floor. A rather loud, creepy chap stuck his head out of the first floor apartment and said hi to Alisha, startling her. We rapped on Esther's door, and she let us in, locking the door behind us. The smell of cigarette smoke lingered on the air even inside the apartment. The apartment was small and rather dim. A hodgepodge of furniture and knick-knacks, pictures and clothes, was scattered about. Esther's lean black cat prowled around, sniffing our shoes, waving her sleek tail in the air, batting the straps on Alisha's knapsack, play-fighting with my hand, and generally making a joker of herself. Esther perched on the dining room table, and the four of us chatted for a bit.

Tara slipped the pizza onto Esther's pizza stone and put it in the oven to bake for twenty minutes or so. Then we had the pleasure of figuring out how to bake the cookies. Esther didn't have any baking sheets, so we used a muffin-top tin, a glass casserole dish, and a glass loaf pan. Tara and I sprayed the dishes with cooking spray and arranged the little rounds and squares of dough. "We have to try some of the dough!" Tara said, so Alisha cut a couple of the squares of peanut butter and chocolate cookies into quarters, and we each had a bite. "Un-cooked cookies," Tara said happily, smacking her lips. While we waited for the pizza to cook, Tara spied a packet of marshmallow snowmen sitting on Esther's table, which she'd given to Esther to decorate awhile ago. So Esther opened them, and we used a couple of food coloring markers (green and red) to draw faces and clothes on the little plump spun-sugar snowmen.

Pretty soon the pizza started to smell good. Tara pulled it out of the oven. Waving a pizza slicer dangerously in the air, she cut the pizza into quarters and slid them onto plates. It wasn't a very big pizza, so the quarters were just the right size for each of us. While the cookies were in the oven, we sat on the living room carpet and ate our pizza, chatting about school and movies and such. Esther put the cat into her bedroom to keep her out of trouble. The pizza was hot and doughy, satisfyingly warm. When the cookies came out of the oven, they were somewhat peculiar-looking. The ones that had been in the class dishes came out looking like "pigs-in-blankets", as Alisha said. A bit on the gloopy side. But the ones in the muffin top tin were, aside from being a bit swaybacked, quite alright. And they were all tasty. We ate them piping hot as we stood in the kitchen, blowing on the gooey chunks of chocolate. Each of us had three cookies, which left plenty for Esther to enjoy later by herself.

Tara had to be back on campus to practice for RUF worship tonight, so we had to leave at six-thirty. We said good-bye to Esther and hurried out to the car. The night was cold and crisp. Our breath plumed out behind us. In the car, I turned on the heater. Tara shared cinnamon mints with us as we drove back to campus. Fluorescent lights flashed as we drove down the busy streets--restaurants, businesses, banks, gas stations, shops, hotels, hospitals, like a glowing coral reef.

Back on campus, I dropped Tara and Alisha off at their apartment. Then I drove back to Lottie. I wrote for a little bit in my room before RUF, and then walked to RUF alone across the frosty grass.

I went to find a seat on the far side of the room, and ended up sitting between Amanda and Rachel in a cracked armchair that ate me alive whenever I sat down in it. Tonight John preached about the first chapter of Jonah: about fearing God and trusting Him to know when His mercy is appropriate; about how God's mercy extends farther than we expect, and because of this, we fight against His mercy. About how God's mercy has come and found us, and we must therefore show it to others.

After RUF, I talked with Jenny briefly. We arranged our own "not-a-date" for Friday night (supper and a basketball game!), when everyone else in RUF will be going on Not A Date. "There's no one else I'd rather go on a date with other than you--well, almost no one else," Jenny laughed as we parted ways. "Yeah! I'd hope there would be someone else!" I laughed back at her. I talked with Crystal and Nicole about Hobgoblins tomorrow night, with Mary about earrings (admiring her pair of dangly blue-and-silver earrings). As I left, I said good-bye to Alisha in the hall. I walked out into the night alone, praying for Alisha and Esther. As I crossed the grass, I heard someone running behind me, and then Rachel was walking beside me, striding confidently, her cheeks red and her breath streaming out behind her under the moonlight. We walked up to our room together, and now we're sitting at our desks, working. I've finished my trek through the LOTR soundtrack and am listening to Sufjan Stevens, "Illinoise!" now. Optimistic orchestral pop with Christian themes. Thanks, Kevin, Crystal, and Philip. :o)

Time for some sleep now. May God be with you all.

hooray for roommates and puns!

Last night, I noticed Rachel’s Calculus book sticking out of her knapsack lying on the bed. “Oh, is that the Calculus book with what looks like a violin on the front?” I asked, recognizing it because Elizabeth and Philip are using the same book. “Yes,” she said, “it’s a violin's f-hole, but it’s also an integral sign.” “They were arguing as to which one it was: Philip said it wasn’t a violin, but an integral sign, and Elizabeth said that it was a violin. I couldn’t help thinking it looked like both,” I laughed. “Hmmm….,” Rachel mused. “I’m not sure why they chose that particular shape for the violin’s f-hole. As far as I can tell, it would only have to do tangentially with math."

And then we both burst out laughing.

pictures

Pictures from the RUF Bible study supper are up on photobucket!

Check an old post for username and password.

a colorful day

Now Playing: Bach, "Prelude and Fugue in A minor".

Yesterday morning I had a Music History II quiz at eight-thirty. The morning was lovely--it felt like something from March or April, with the sun shining daffodil yellow through thin clouds, and the water beginning to melt again from drifts of dirty snow. After the quiz, in the North Lab that has the grilled ceiling painted like gold stars on a dark blue sky, I studied for a little while in the upstairs student study room. No one else was there. The bare branches of the trees made beautiful latticed patterns behind the rippled glass windows, and the early morning light streamed silver over the bookshelves with their heavy volumes of dissertation abstracts. I had a meeting with the study abroad director at nine o'clock, which only took about half-an-hour. We went over a few questions and talked about the basics of the application process. I went to Tyrrell and practiced for an hour.

I read for awhile and then went to Music History at eleven o'clock. More on Handel today. We watched some video clips about Italian singers and such. After class, I swung back to Lottie, very happy under the bright noon sunshine. The sky was clear blue, and there was a warm south breeze. I met Nicole and Tara in the Lottie lobby at noon, and the three of us piled into my car to drive down to Jamba Juice at sixty-first and Yale (though we thought it was seventy-first, and so had to do some doubling back). It being the noon hour on such a lavishly sunny day, traffic was absolutely dreadful. Wherever the Broken Arrow Expressway crosses over the surface streets, traffic was backed up for a long way. Pretty soon this got rather tedious. All three of us were tired, so we had some difficulty keeping conversation going. We inched down the road until at last we were well away from the Expressway. We entered the district of hospitals and medical complexes, where tall towers of concrete and glass loomed over fancy restaurants and shopping malls. Jamba Juice is in a strip mall on the edge of this district.

As we entered the shop, the smell of ripe citrus and the clicky sound of a mandolin greeted us. "Nickel Creek" Nickel Creek was playing on the radio, "The Lighthouse" and "Out of the Woods". There were two people working the counter, a guy and a girl, both younger. The three of us stood debating for awhile, staring up at the colorful signboard on which the various drinks were listed. I finally ordered a berry-bannana smoothie for myself and a berry-lime smoothy for Jenny S., who had requested that I buy something for her since she wasn't able to come with us. I perched on a stool and waited while the other two ordered their drinks. Behind the counter, I could see a big metal basin full of oranges, a platter full of carrots, and another platter containing long green growing wheatgrass. The two employees were soon busy throwing ice and yogurt and fruit together, and the whir of blenders crowded out Nickel Creek. Very soon, we each had our drinks, and walked back out into the sunshine to drive to campus. Back on campus, we went to the caf to eat together. I had a chicken salad-sprout-avocado wrap, which was delicious with the last of my smoothie. We sat around and chatted for a bit, and then went our separate ways.

I took a short nap, worked on a paper for British Novels, and went to orchestra at three forty-five. Today we played "Russlan and Ludmilla" and a Bach fugue transcribed for orchestra. The conductor has been giving us new pieces every day, trying out different numbers to see how they sound. After orchestra, Rachel and I ran in the gym. I find that I'm able to take longer strides now, smoother, more effortless, so I think it's time to go faster.

After running, I showered. By then it was about six-fifteen, time to go downstairs to meet Tara. Tara, Rachel, and I were to drive together to Joanna's house for a Bible study dinner--the RUF guys' Bible study had arranged and organized to host the RUF girls' Bible study. All the other girls were late, so Jenny H. rode with us, too. The evening star hung clear in an aquamarine sky as we drove down the dark streets to the house.

Joanna's house was full of people and children when we arrived. She has several siblings, and the house looks like a great place for kids--lots of books, colorful posters about reading on the walls, a huge treehouse out back, etc. The walls in every room were painted a different color. In the large room at the back of the house, three tables had been set up. The boys were busy cooking in the kitchen next to this large room. Daniel was slicing bread, Spencer was setting out cups, Andrew (perched on a rolling chair because of his ankle) was overseeing the cooking, and David was pouring a thick stream of sticky brown rice into a bowl. Syneva and Amanda were already there. I glanced around the room as greetings were being said. The creamy brown walls had shelves on them, and there were pictures perched on the shelves--photographs, watercolors, etc., pictures made and painted by Joanna and her siblings. Meanwhile, everyone was saying hello and admiring one another's clothes (this mostly among the girls :o).

When the boys were ready, we took our seats. By Spencer's decree, no girls were allowed to sit beside one another. Tara, Nicole, Rachel, and I sat every other seat at one of the tables, gingerly sliding our knees under the elegant white tablecloth. Kevin, Daniel, and a chap named Stephen joined us. Daniel prayed for everyone, and then we ate. The boys had made an excellent supper, concluding with pie for dessert.

After supper, various people pitched in to help clear the dishes away. The boys shook out the tableclothes and folded up the tables. I was feeling a bit woozy, so I sat down in a corner to watch the proceedings. Rachel and Nicole left. Once the floor was clear, Syneva put a CD of swing music on the CD player. James and Eleanor were, of course, the first on the floor. Eleanor's heels clicked on the honey-brown hardwood, her skirt spinning out as James twirled her in circles. Joanna's parents danced some, and Joanna danced with one of her brothers. Syneva and Amanda danced together, Syneva pursing her lips and laughing. Almost everyone was dancing to the fast, cheerful swing music. As the evening went on, Syneva and Daniel taught the guys some new steps. Alisha danced with David, with Joanna's littlest sister perched on her hip, a three-way dance that made everyone laugh. Alisha and Tara danced together, kicking their legs in and out, holding hands and flinging back their heads with laughter at their own silliness. It was funny to watch the older girls dancing with Joanna's little sister--a tiny brown-haired, big-eyed scrap of humanity whose greatest joy in life seemed to be dancing. She hopped back and forth to the beat, smiling happily while she held hands with Alisha, who had to kneel down to do some of the fancier steps with her. Syneva taught Tara and Crystal a zig-zag step, the three of them flinging their heels in and out. The room was full of noise and people dancing and people standing about and talking.

At about ten o'clock, it was time for everyone to leave. I drove Tara and Syneva back to campus, dropping Syneva off at her apartment. Then I went up with Tara to the Penthouse. We settled down to watch the end of Clouds of Witness. Though the actor for Lord Peter may not be perfect (he's a bit old!), he is an excellent actor, so both of us try to be forgiving. This story was one of the longest and most convoluted of the ones I've seen yet, but both Tara and I really enjoyed it.

While we watched the movie, Alisha and Jenny S. were in and out. They stopped in to drop off their things, and then left to go do "shenaningans"--i.e., drive out as far as Owasso to look at the stars. They bundled up in thick coats and took along a sleeping bag, leaving Tara and me in the quiet apartment. They came back about an hour later, laughing at themselves. "We're such chumps! It's cloudy outside! And it's starting to rain!" Jenny laughed as she stuffed her coat back into the closet. Alisha sat down in her pajamas to watch the end of the movie with us. We paused it briefly to look at pictures from the party from Tara's camera, and for Jenny to show us her new dress, a fluttery burgundy affair with a nicely swishy skirt (dancing is very much in vogue in RUF!). Tara and I both cheered when Lord Peter showed up in the nick of time, and the story ended satisfactorily.

After the movie finished, I lingered to chat for a bit, though it was after one o'clock in the morning. Jenny was just pulling her smoothie out of the freezer and scraping off the top layer with a spoon. Finally, I put on my shoes and said good-bye. I drove my car back to the Lottie lot, and walked across the dusty street through a lightly-falling rain. Rachel was asleep in the room, of course, so I prowled about, putting on my pajamas, and then went immediately to bed.

the sun is back!

Now Playing: Psalm 68E on the New Song "Stronghold" CD. I'm sitting in the Penthouse, listening to this CD on Tara's CD player. She's curled up on the fat sofa at the other side of the living room, munching Pringles potato chips and reading Moll Flanders, with the deep orange glow of the lamp glowing around her head.

This morning, Rachel and I went down to Nicole and Mary's room for prayer. Nicole stayed curled up in bed while Mary bustled about, getting herself dressed. Rachel almost fell asleep on Nicole's bean bag. We sipped hot black tea while we shared prayer requests, and then prayed for one another. After prayer time, I frantically sent e-mails until I had to dash off to Lyric at nine-thirty. The morning was pleasantly cold, bracing, with a bright blue sunshine. Clear ice had caked on the sidewalk where yesterday's melting water had frozen over the bricks. In Lyric today, we talked more about images, especially in 13th and 14th Century lyrics and in Andrew Marvell's poem "The Garden". After class, I went back to my room to study and work on the paper for Lyric, which is due Thursday. I rattled off some revisions before hurrying to the cafeteria for lunch.

The cafeteria has been undergoing a series of minor problems. They've had to dig holes in the floor a couple of times now. It's a bit startling because, looking down into the hole, you can see only six inches of concrete foundation before the dirt sets in. Also, the roof leaks like a seive. I sat at a big table with Rachel, Mary, Nicole, Amy, Jenny H., James, Daniel, Hannah, Leslie, and others. Everyone cycled through at various times, so lunch was made up of a series of sporadic conversations--complaints about classes, exclamations of exhaustion, etc.

Lunch being finished, I studied for a little while before British Novels at two o'clock. In Novels, we are working on Defoe, especially focusing on his theories of marriage. After Novels, I walked over to the gym with Crystal and Amanda. I went into the lounge in the gym to meet with Alisha.

I was a bit early, so I perched on the windowseat in the spacious lobby for awhile. People kept passing through: Football players come to buy sandwiches at the little shop in the corner of the atrium, sleek girls purchasing coffee and smoothies, employees changing shifts and watching TV on the big screen (their desk is at one end of the atrium, and the TV is at the other end). A group of rowers jogged past the window on the sidewalk outside; a smattering of Indian students, loaded with heavy knapsacks and jabbering in their own language, sauntered by; an Asian man with a bag of food slouched past; some long, lanky guys on the track team loped along the street. The brilliant afternoon sunshine glared through the far windows, high on the walls over my head, filling the lower part of the atrium with cool blue shadow.

Alisha bought cranberry juice for the two of us, and we perched on the windowsill among our knapsacks and coats for a nice long chat. Just as we were settling down, though, A.C. came in. She ordered a cup of coffee with fluffy cream on top and joined us. We chatted for awhile about classes and such, and then A.C. went off to buy a newspaper. After she left, Alisha said with a little smile, "She's an interesting person." We had a long, serious conversation, about many things--"cabbages and kings and pigs with wings".

Anyhow, while we talked, the sun drifted slowly down the warm goldenrod wall, flashing in the window, reflecting over Alisha's face, throwing blue bars of shadow from the window panes across the atrium. It slid over our feet, across the floor. It patterned the wall of John Mabee across the street with the delicate inlaid tracery of blue shadows from the bare oak trees, until the intertwined silhouettes were swallowed up in a cool blue gloaming.

Alisha and I left the gym at about five-thirty. The sun was setting behind the skyscrapers downtown. The flock of crows that always flies east in the morning and west at night was flying west across the sky, big black wings against blue. The half-melted ice caked on the intramural field gleamed faintly like water on soggy green grass. Alisha and I went to the cafeteria and picked up meals-to-go, and then walked across the lawn. On the way, we stopped by my room so that I could pick up the first part of Clouds of Witness, a Dorothy Sayers mystery DVD. We went by Alisha's old room on the way. The door happened to be open. Glancing in casually, both of us winced: The room was a mess, with clothes everywhere, the furniture topsy-turvy, the bed a wreck, and nasty posters of Rap singers plastered on the walls in place of Alisha's maps and drawings.

As we crossed the lawn, Alisha pointed out a long ripple of brilliant crimson and purple cloud on the aquamarine sky--as though the sun in its setting had left behind a fiery eddy on the sky. The wind licked my bangs back, and Alisha laughed that they were sticking up just like the cloud. We went through John Mabee on the way, stopping to say hi to Andrew and Asher and Bob.

In the Penthouse, we found Tara reading. The three of us sat down to watch the DVD while we ate our suppers. Tara ate a bowl of Froot Loops, and Alisha and I unpacked our meals from the styrofoam cafeteria boxes. Jenny S. came banging in a bit later and took a shower. Tara and I laughed at Lord Peter's funny mannerisms.

Alisha and I went to RUF at seven-thirty. I sat down on the edge, by myself. Daniel was sitting on the sofa in front of me, and he was courteous enough to engage me in conversation until RUF began. Tonight a guest pastor, Ricky Jones, preached. The sermon was quite good, about following Christ and the sacrifice of faith.

After RUF, I talked with Syneva about the upcoming TSS concert, listened to Jenny S. joke around, leaned on Alisha, roughhoused with Charis a bit, etc.

I came back with Tara to the Penthouse. We finished our Lord Peter DVD, just the first part. Because Jenny and Alisha weren't back yet, Tara persuaded me to stay. So I sat down here at her computer at the table to write up this entry. Tara is still curled up on the big overstuffed leather sofa. But now Jenny and Alisha are back. Jenny ate supper at the table, and is studying Spanish now--complaining while we tease her, of course. :o) Alisha has just curled up with Tara on the sofa to do her devotions. We've been listening to the New Song CD, which I'm loaning to Tara, but it's over, so now Alisha has put on the Master and Commander soundtrack.

Each of us buried in our work, but connected by the music. Tara's flower pictures all over one wall, Alisha's maps all over another wall, Jenny's Cardinals baseball posters all over another wall, and Tara's door plastered with photographs of RUFers.

sliding along

Now Playing: "Come Away With Me" by Norah Jones (courtesy of Tara--thanks! :o).

When I started to open the shutters after I dressed this morning, the draft blowing under the windows was so cold that I left the shutters closed. A cruel wind was skirling along under a bleached sky, creaking in the branches of the trees. I finished reading a section of an Honors textbook, wrote some e-mails, had brief devotions, etc. Stephen was playing Freelancer on the computer in the schoolroom, while Philip worked on Physics homework in his room. Laura puttered in and out with the guinea pig. My father stayed home from work today, and my mother was doing laundry and assembling the yearly family-and-friends letter. After I finished my little things, I curled up on the couch in the schoolroom to play Guess Who with Laura. Philip, taking a break from studying, watched us, egging Laura on. Our hang-out time in the schoolroom was interrupted when my mother announced that Philip was supposed to take a family portrait of us for the annual letter. Dutifully, we trooped downstairs. Philip set up his tripod in the living room, and we stood against the pull-out doors the way we always do, grinning grotesquely. Laura was getting restless and contrary, so for the last one, my father yelled a Curly “Three Stooges” line, which made all of us laugh.

The ordeal over, we all bundled ourselves up to go sledding with the Carrolls. Bridget rang the doorbell at about eleven-fifteen, and we stamped outside, dragging the toboggan behind us. Our toboggan is a hand-me-down from whoever owned our house last—a simple aluminum rectangle with a curved nose and a rope for steering or pulling. Mrs. Carroll, smiling and red-cheeked, helped Philip to load it into the back of the Carrolls’ big suburban. Then we clambered inside, finding places here and there among the Carroll kids. Emily was bundled up in a snowsuit and looked like a little green marshmallow with a pointed top. Bridget and Laura giggled happily together. We drove over to the soccer fields on the north side of town. These soccer fields also double as baseball diamonds and have chain-link fences running around them. They stand under a network of steep dams, which run on the north and west sides of the fields. To the south and east of the dams are the soccer fields; to the north is a series of lakes and ponds, and to the west is a high, open pasture with houses on the far edge. The dams to the west are much further from the soccer fields than the dams to the north—the northern dam is steep and has only a few yards between its foot and the fence, whereas the western dam is slightly shallower and has a broad open space before it descends in another steep slope to the fences. The dams are tall, steep, earthen affairs, perhaps two or three stories tall (though I’m a bad judge of height). At the soccer fields, we bundled out of the car. The sun glaring off the frozen sleet dazzled my eyes. This is peculiar stuff: it looks like snow (though it doesn’t have the same fairy-tale sparkle), but it’s hard, almost impenetrable, like ice. The surface is all bumpy, textured—not as smooth as an ice skating rink, but almost, like walking along the top of a utility table.

We dragged our toboggan, the Carrolls’ sled, and their snow saucers out of the trunk, and began to haul them up the lowest part of the western dam. In the shelter of a stand of trees, the sleet was not as deep and had been chipped away by many other people climbing the dam. Emily got Philip to pull her on the sled. Carrying one of the snow saucers, I nearly slipped as the wind caught the round plastic surface like a sail, tipping me sideways. The others were having similar troubles, and all of us were sliding on the sleet. But it was grand fun, too. Wrapped in scarves, coats, mittens, hats, and gloves, we looked like a party of fat aliens traipsing over the surface of the moon. At the top of the dam, the boys immediately tossed down their snow saucers, scrambled aboard, and went whizzing down the dam, howling and laughing. Bridget and Laura took the sled. Emily was eager to follow, so she and I curled up together on one of the snow saucers. Mrs. Carroll gave us a push, and down we went. Breathless, I laughed, clutching Emily’s tubby shape to my chest so that she wouldn’t go flying. The slope rasped under the plastic saucer, and at the foot of the dam, we hit a bump, which sent us airborne for a foot or two until we slammed down onto the sleet and skidded out across a flat space. It was a rough ride for one’s spine and haunches, but great for one’s adrenaline. Emily and I picked ourselves up and proceeded to climb the dam again, taking great care on the slippery surface. We could skate along the top of the dam, where the crest was somewhat flattened. Bridget went so far on the sled that she managed to fly all the way across the open space, down the next slope, and to the fence around the soccer fields.

We all went over and over again. There were a couple of other families sledding at the same time, with younger children. I went down with Emily again, and then with Bridget on the sled. The steep slope was quite forbidding at first, especially on the sled, and I screamed in Bridget’s ear as we zipped over the ice. Everyone was having a blast. The boys kept climbing up and then whizzing down, over and over, nonstop. Their plastic snow saucers made strange sounds as they whirred over the ice, like the sounds you hear in Star Wars films during space flight. Philip and Nathan raced each other on the snow saucers. Stephen spun out on the toboggan. William skated along the top of the dam between times. The cold north wind chafed the blood into our cheeks. Mrs. Carroll stood at the top and laughed and laughed at us—laughter seemed to bubble out of her, sheer joy. She went down on one of the snow saucers, losing her elegant black hat in the process. Stephen, coming up as she went down, grabbed the hat before it blew away, but Mrs. Carroll just laughed and shouted. When the boys moved to the steeper northern slope, and Laura and Bridget were playing with the toboggan, Mrs. Carroll and Emily went down on their seats. Emily had so much padding on her that she couldn’t feel the jounces, and giggled and chirped happily. My eyes were used to the glare, now. I trudged up the dam, digging my toes into holes that Philip had kicked where the ice was thin, and then zipped down on the saucer, turning backwards and gasping in surprise at the bump at the bottom. Swishing out over the open space was almost like flying.

After about an hour of bright sun and cold wind, I was beginning to get tired, and my bones ached from the cold. Laura and Bridget had gone down the second slope and run themselves into the fence. Laura had banged her head hard on a fencepost and was woozy for a bit. Mrs. Carroll and Emily went over to investigate what the boys were doing on the northern slope. Bridget and I skated around on the ice, while Laura lay on her back, pretending to be a frozen mummy. Then Bridget noticed that her mother was shouting and beckoning to us, so we started to make our way over the ice towards them. It was a long way, hauling the toboggan, the sled, and a snow saucer or two, but we made it without mishap. It turned out that the real mishap had already happened: Nathan, sailing down the north dam, had stuck his leg out to prevent himself from running into the fence at the bottom, and had clipped his shin on one of the fence posts. Philip helped him to lie down on the toboggan. Mrs. Carroll couldn’t tell whether Nathan’s leg was broken or only badly bruised. [N.B.: It turns out that the leg was broken cleanly. Pray for the poor chap!]

Our gleeful party became a rather dismal trek over the ice, back to the car. Philip hauled Nathan on the toboggan at the head of the procession, and the rest of us brought up the rear with the red snow saucers. Mrs. Carroll teased Nathan gently about amputating his leg. “Are you going to cut off his leg?” Emily asked, worried. “No, no,” Mrs. Carroll laughed, “Though that may be what daddy will say.” We all piled into the car, and the Carrolls drove us home. At home, Logan had come over to eat lunch. We tramped inside, stripping ourselves of coats and scarves and gloves, and sat down to a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches and hot soup. It was comforting to be inside out of the wind. After lunch, I made sure that I was packed and ready to return to Tulsa. Just as I was leaving, the Carroll children arrived: Mrs. Carroll had brought them to stay with us while she took Nathan to the doctor for an x-ray. I said quick good-byes to my parents and then went outside so that Logan and Stephen could drive me back to Tulsa. The drive to Tulsa was fairly uneventful.

In Tulsa, walked back to Lottie alone—from behind the library, across the lawn. In the room, I unpacked, and then walked to the music annex for an orchestra rehearsal at three-thirty. Hardly any of the string players were present, but most of the woodwinds and brass were there. The rehearsal went fairly well.

Afterward, I walked back to Lottie. The evening was blue and cold, with the chilliness that makes every shadow seem to be an icicle. Rachel and I ate supper together in the cafeteria.. It was good to get to spend time one-on-one with her again. After supper, I wrote e-mails and studied a bit for Lyric. At about seven-thirty, I walked downstairs to Nicole and Mary’s room. Nicole, Mary, Crystal, and Tara were all hanging out there. Mary made tea for herself, Crystal, and Tara. Crystal was examining The Action Heroine’s Guidebook, one of Nicole’s books. She read humorous (and rather risqué) excerpts from it to us, laughing. At eight o’clock, Tara and I walked over to the Penthouse so that Tara could change into exercise clothes before the RUF guys’ basketball game in the gym. We skidded over the ice cautiously. Tara went to the game, which started at eight-thirty. She left me in the apartment to finish typing up this entry.

At about nine o’clock, I walked over to the gym to watch the end of the guys’ game. All three courts were full of people playing. The guys’ game was in full swing. RUF was ahead. It was rather humorous: on the other half of the low wall that separates the exercise machines from the courts, there was hardly anyone sitting. On the half where the RUF team had its bench, about twenty people were perched, cheering, laughing, and socializing. I sat beside Jenny H. and Eleanor at the end of the row while Jenny rubbed Eleanor’s back. I gave Spencer the heads-up about the visit tomorrow, and joked around with him and Jenny S. The RUF guys won handily.

After the game, I walked back to Lottie alone, picking my way carefully over the ice. In the room, I found Rachel entertaining Crystal. They were discussing Aphra Behn, whom we’ve been reading for British Novels. Crystal stayed to chat and work on a paper for awhile. We laughed at people’s foolishness, especially the stupidity of Behn’s characters. Crystal, being a double major in Psychology, has decided to diagnose the characters with being histrionic and clinically insane. Looking ahead, we speculated about Defoe’s Moll Flanders. “Defoe, if you bore me, I will kick your grave!” Crystal said. She decided that I had better do the grave-kicking for her since I’ll be closer to his grave next year, so I imitated the scene: “This is for Crystal! *whack* And for me! *whack* And for Tara! *whack* And for Amanda! *whack*!” Crystal and Rachel burst out laughing. Crystal has left, and the room is quiet.

trust

It's wonderful to wake up in your own room again. I love all my books! It's like sleeping in a library.

We had more ice this morning, but there was thunder during the storm to add some interest. I must say that though this weather is both inconvenient and dangerous, it's a lot more exciting than it was last winter, when we had that dreadful drought for six months. I'd much rather have inconvenient driving conditions than watch the land strangle to death without any precipitation.

Here is an article that my "little" brother Philip wrote. I thought it was brilliant. :o)

Proverbs 3:5-6: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.”

This semester is my last semester of highschool. Within a few months, I’ll have to decide where to go to college and what to do while I’m there. In addition, there are hundreds of decisions I make about life every day. With all these decisions, God’s Word calls me to trust in Him, to make my decisions leaning on Him for help rather than trusting in my own wisdom.

A Godly example of trust is a man named Ebed-Melech, an Ethiopian who lived in Jerusalem during the time of Jeremiah. Chapter 38 of the Book of Jeremiah chronicles Jeremiah’s arrest and imprisonment in a well filled with mud. It was deep enough that verse 7 could say “So Jeremiah sank in the mire.” However, the chapter goes on to describe how Ebed-Melech approached King Zedekiah, who had just commanded Jeremiah’s imprisonment, and said “My lord the king, these men have done evil in all that they have done to Jeremiah the prophet, whom they have cast into the dungeon, and he is likely to die from hunger in the place where he is.” Ebed-Melech knew that King Zedekiah could easily command him to be killed for calling the king’s action wicked; nevertheless, he feared God rather than King Zedekiah, and sought to save God’s prophet. King Zedekiah gave Ebed-Melech permission to remove Jeremiah from the dungeon, allowing Ebed-Melech to save Jeremiah’s life.

In the next chapter, the story moves to the fall of Jerusalem, at which King Zedekiah and many of the people of Israel were slaughtered by the Babylonians. However, among the people who survived was Ebed-Melech. At the end of Chapter 39, God gives Jeremiah this message for Ebed-Melech: “‘For I will surely deliver you, and you shall not fall by the sword; but your life shall be as a prize to you, because you have put your trust in Me,’ says the Lord.”

Ebed-Melech demonstrates the courage we should have because of God’s goodness. As Christians, God is our loving Father. We have been united to His Son, and thus His words to Christ in Luke 3:22 “You are My beloved Son; in You I am well pleased” are for us as well. In addition, He has promised to work all things that happen to us together for our good and His glory. With these great promises in mind, we also ought to be reminded to trust in the Lord for all things in life.

In the year ahead, many decisions will confront each one of us. Put your trust in the Lord about the difficulties that lie ahead, and rely on Him when each decision arises. He who cannot lie has promised in Hebrews 13:15 “I will never leave you nor forsake you.” Trust in the Lord; He will direct your paths!

second verse [not quite] same as the first

Now Playing: Concerto Grosso in G minor, Op. 3, No. 2 by Antonio Vivaldi.

This morning when I woke up at six-thirty, Rachel stayed asleep. After I dressed, I pattered down the hallway to the study lounge to do my devotions. Rain freckled the windows.

After I did my devotions, I studied for the Music History quiz, and then went to the quiz at eight o'clock. The library was just being open. A few students milled around outside the locked computer lab. I stood separate, looking at books by faculty authors displayed in glass cases outside the computer lab doors. At last a woman came to unlock the doors. Unfortunately, once we sat down at the computers, the class realized that we needed a password in order to get into the quiz. Our substitute professor didn't know this and never showed up, so we sat around impatiently for half-an-hour until one of the guys in the class figured out what the password was. The questions on the quiz were mostly random details from the textbook. I was glad when it was over.

Back in the room, I read for awhile, and then practiced my flute. When I left Tyrrell, the rain had turned to pellets which coated the sidewalk and grass with a sleek, crunchy layer. When I got back to the room, I spent awhile figuring out what to do next about the weather. I talked to my father on the phone, and he said that my mother was all set to come get me. Though I was apprehensive, she sounded pretty definite. Then Jenny S. called to ask if I was ready to go out to lunch with her. Since the weather was so cold, we decided to postpone our outing to Jamba Juice and go to Panera instead. I stood outside in the parking lot, the cold wind blowing against the backs of my legs, waiting for Jenny to pull up in her car. Eventually, she did. She bought a new car over the break, a nice little dun-colored car with a moonroof. It drives remarkably smoothly, though it has a stick shift. The car was thick with ice in bubbly pods all over. I couldn't see out the passenger side of the windshield since Jenny had only scraped clear the driver's side. We crunched through the streets, laughing and listening to Alisha's Rap dance music.

Panera wasn't too crowded. We ordered our food and sat down at a long high table near the door, hopping the tall chairs along the floor to scoot them up to the table. I had warm clam chowder and half a tuna salad sandwich. Jenny had clam chowder in a bread bowl. We sat and talked happily together. Jenny asked about my break, and I asked about hers. We laughed at ourselves a lot, discovering that we have a lot more in common than either one of us suspected. I really enjoyed it.

The drive back to campus was somewhat more exciting. We fishtailed a couple of times on the slick road. Sleet pellets pinged against the windshield. Jenny dropped me off at Lottie. Up in the room, I packed up my things. At two o'clock, I ran downstairs to meet Syneva. Jenny H. and Andrew happened to be sitting in the lobby. Then Syneva arrived, and we went up to the room. Rachel was there, packing up her books to go study at the library. I made tea for Syneva and myself. Syneva perched happily in my desk chair, tipping it backwards and cradling her cup of chamomile tea. I sat on my bed, and we talked about the semester ahead. Syneva has a lot of practicing to do to get ready for her senior recitals, and I have a lot of reading and writing to do. We chatted until I looked out the window and recognized Philip trudging through the icy parking lot from the minivan. He and my mother had made it through to come get me. I snatched my belongings and went downstairs with Syneva. We said good-bye, and then went our separate ways: she to Tyrrell to practice, I towards the parking to meet Philip.

The car was full of things--scarves, water bottles, a couple of sleeping bags, jackets, etc. My mother had prepared everything in case of an emergency stranding. The drive back to Stillwater was fairly smooth, thankfully, with only a couple of fishtails to add some spice. We nosed along at fifty mph, my mother driving carefully over the slick roads. When we crossed Keystone Lake, we saw wraiths of steam blowing over the steel-grey waves. The blowing mist rode silently over the water, hiding the distant hills. The beaches were white with snow. Seagulls flew over the water, tipping white wings through the greyness. An eerie, cold scene. On long expanses of open highway, we were the only car on the road, driving through a white wilderness where pellets of sleet dashed against the windows and hissed over the empty hills. Pockets of snow collected in the hummocks between tufts of yellow grass, and drifted over the roots of juniper and oak trees huddled together in knots along the creek bottoms. The highway was lonelier and more desolate than I have ever seen it.

We listened to Nickel Creek and the "Master and Commander" soundtrack, and returned home in about two hours, at five o'clock. The house was cold and empty--Laura and Stephen were both upstairs. My father has gone to his aunt's memorial service in Dallas with my grandparents. Laura and I sat upstairs playing with the guinea pig for awhile. He sure is a cute little chap. He sniffed me all over when I held him, whiskering his nose in my face, and butted his head against my chin in a friendly way. I helped my mother fix supper, and after the table had been set, I sat in a corner of the kitchen, reading and chatting with her. She diced onions, sliced mushrooms, and threw them into a saucepan to sizzle in butter on the stove. We had spaghetti and meatballs for supper. After supper, we took baths. My mother read The Fellowship of the Ring to Philip, Stephen, and me while we waited for Laura to finish showering. Then we had family worship, and after that, we watched the first half of The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club, a Dorothy L. Sayers book turned into a BBC production. By the time we finished the first half, it was ten-thirty, so my mother bundled all of us off to bed.

Thank you to all of you who prayed for safe travel! Please continue to do so: My father is supposed to come back from Dallas Saturday night (and I really want to see him again because I miss him), and I have to get back to Tulsa somehow before classes start on Tuesday. Also, Beth W. and my pastor are traveling, so please remember them as well.

a blustery day

Now Playing: “An Ancient Muse” by Loreena McKennitt. Track 1, “Incantation”.

This morning I stayed in the room and read Making Modern Science and The Origins of Modern Science for Honors. I had Lyric at nine-thirty. In the hall, I ran into Rachel B., who's joined the class (she was in MAW last semester). She's a nice, rather quiet girl, with pale skin and dark hair and eyes. We've struck up a sort of friendship. Tara knows her, too.

Lyric begins to be more and more interesting every time--I have a feeling that it will probably turn out to be my favorite. We discussed a couple of Shakespearean sonnets today. Then I went back to the room to finish up my Honors reading and work on reading for Lyric. To give us writing to contrast to Shakespeare, Dr. L assigned D.H. Lawrence, a British writer from the turn of the last century. I also studied for Music History. I've discovered that I love Vivaldi's second violin concerto. There are only two movements on WebCT, but I listen to them over and over again.

After lunch, I read until British Novels at two o'clock. I arrived early, and occupied my time standing aloof from the group of students hob-nobbing in the hall near the classroom. I inspected a laboratory, to which the door was open, and looked over a couple of bulletin boards on which results from experiments about cliff swallows and bees were posted. In class, we discussed the Restoration, the Glorious Revolution, and Aphra Behn. Dr. S ran fifteen minutes over, which was actually somewhat amusing since she hardly ever does that. I'd forgotten how much I actually enjoy her lecture style: she's very lucid and accessible, less acidic than Dr. A in MAW, and she manages to fit in a lot of information but pacing herself so that the class has brief pauses in which to finish scribbling notes. She really respects the Reformation and what it did for literacy and literature in Europe, so it was refreshing to listen to her talk about that.

After class, I walked over to the gym and ran. Then I took a nice long shower and returned to the room to find Rachel reading. I drifted around the room for awhile, unwinding, before I settled down to read some more. We went to supper together. After supper we stepped across the hall from the caf to the Fishbowl, where the RUF game night was beginning to get underway. Rachel and I sat down on one of the low sofas. On three sides, the Fishbowl has floor-to-ceiling windows (two of those walls face inward, one toward offices, the other toward the caf). On the fourth wall, a blank, the guys were setting up video games: DDR and Wii. In a corner by the fireplace, they'd set up an electric guitar game similar to DDR. There were lots of RUFers milling around, but more importantly, other students were being drawn in from the hallway, not RUFers. A group of large football players came in to play Wii for awhile, laughing raucously with Jason and Andrew. Mattl. challenged some other guys to DDR. It was funny to watch the people playing DDR, hopping over the pads, tapping their feet in time to the heavy Rap beat, mimicking the dance moves indicated on the projected screen. Their bodies jiggled and jumped like grasshoppers. The funniest part was that the guys seemed always to be better than the girls. Kevin, Amy, Jenny S., and Crystal all played at various times, too. The Wii was put through its paces with tennis and bowling, while from the corner, electric guitar hoots mingled with the heavy DDR music.

Hannah sat down beside me on the couch, and we chatted about our classes, getting to know each other a bit better. Sitting on the floor against the couches, Rachel, Mary, Nicole, and Tara played Egyptian ratscrew, shouting and laughing and slapping their cards on the carpet. Leslie and Mrs. K served chips, cookies, and soft drinks to those who were hungry.

When Hannah moved off to talk to the guys, Alisha sat down next to me. Then she went off to talk to our guests, but I stayed slouched where I was. Kathryn and Amy came over. I asked Kathryn about her position as an RA. She told me about how happy she was to be back with the girls on her floor, and about their resolution to get a new fish to keep in their bathroom (the one last semester died). Apparently it's a second floor tradition to have a pet fish in the bathroom.

Syneva and Amanda were the next to cycle through. Mrs. K chatted with Syneva and Amanda while Charis ran circles around us, doing flips over the couch to show off. I sat quietly, watching and listening. In my heart of hearts I want to hold onto Amanda and Syneva. This is the beginning of the end. They will be gone next year. Then I will be gone, and when I come back, Alisha, Tara, and Jenny S. will all be gone, too. When Syneva and Amanda left to get some supper (Syneva hadn't had anything but sugar to eat all day, for which I scolded her), Mr. K asked about my Christmas break, etc. Kevin came and chatted for a bit, and so did Crystal. Jenny and I discussed our planned outing to Jamba Juice tomorrow. The game stereos still blared, people talked and laughed loudly, exclamations, feet thumping the DDR pads, etc. It was eight o'clock, so I decided to go study.

As Rachel and I had walked to the caf for supper, I’d noticed that the star magnolias in the courtyard were starting to bloom. Now, walking back through the dark by myself, I stopped in the courtyard to visit the little trees. Their thick, waxy silver branches danced in the wind, intertwined like Arabic arches. Fuzzy buds stood upright, their thick soft hairs catching the bright lights along the pathway and making halos like green candles in the darkness. High up on the branches, a few buds had unfurled into full bloom, creamy petals veined burgundy. I walked round one pair of trees to where a few of the flowers at my height had begun to open. Stooping to a half-open bud, I caught the sweet, faintly cloying smell. I stood admiring the flowers in the darkened courtyard, the play of the pathway lights off the branches and the fluffy buds. As the wind riffled through the branches, a fuzzy bud bobbed up and kissed my lips. I walked to the dorm quietly, noticing the dampness that had congealed around the big sandstones of the walkway.

Rachel was in the room reading when I came in. She went out to talk to her family on the phone. I sat down to read and listen to Loreena McKennitt, and to write my first response paper for British Novels. I'm very tired.

"After my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God; I myself will see Him with my own eyes--I and not another. How my heart yearns within me!" (Job 19:26-27), and all my dear ones will be there, too, perfect. The best is yet to come....

spring semester 2007, day 2

Now Playing: "An Ancient Muse" by Loreena McKennitt. Track 6, "Penelope's Song".

This morning, I wrote e-mails, read, and then went to Lyric at nine-thirty. Lyric is in Oliphant Hall, which is really the languages/biology building, but for some reason, English classes always get put in there, too. The professor, Dr. L, is a tall, thickset woman shaped like a pear with grey hair and grey skin and glasses. She has a friendly smile. She told us that she didn't want to load too much on us in any given week. We have three or four papers to write over the semester that are all supposed to tie together into one big project at the end. We get to read elegies, so I wrote down on the little information sheet she passed out that I'd like to read some Anglo-Saxon stuff if we could. :o)

After class, I walked out with Tara, who's in the class with me. She went over to Greek, while I returned to the room. I spent the rest of the morning reading the Honors textbook and Shakespearean sonnets for Lyric and listening to this CD. It's not a bad CD, though Loreena seems to have gotten up on her soapbox a little more than usual with the "war-is-bad", "all-roads-lead-to-truth-and-God", "let's-all-be-friends" nonsense. Reading the lyrics just makes me sad because she's obviously hungering for true peace in God, but she doesn't know quite where to look for it. Thankfully, though, you can hardly understand her when she sings, so it's easy just to enjoy the music.

I ate lunch with Amy, Hannah, Leslie, Andrew, James, and Rachel. We all swapped stories from our Christmas breaks. Andrew told us that he brewed five gallons of beer ("I sure hope I don't have to drink all of it!"), and asked me how many pages I'd written. Andrew and James mostly ran the conversation, which was quite silly--telling "horror" stories about broken bones, with the hypothesis that if someone breaks a bone, it can actually be funny as long as the circumstances are funny. Andrew, however, has a phobia about broken legs, so he doesn't find broken legs to be funny at all. The boys sure kept the rest of us laughing.

After lunch, I read some more. At two o'clock, it was time to walk back to Oliphant for British Novels. Dr. S, my advisor, teaches British Novels. The class seems to have picked up the riff-raff of weird English students from the department: many of the usual suspects are in the class. To even that out, Crystal, Amanda, and Tara are all in the class, too. We sit in a row in the third line of desks together. That fact in itself should make the class fun.

After British Novels, I walked out with Amanda. As we crossed the street (I was heading for the gym), we passed a man being interviewed. Someone was holding a heavy TV camera up to his face. "Hurry before he stops talking," Amanda whispered with a giggle, so we hurried past across the camera, behind the man being interviewed. So I guess we're on TV now.

I ran in the gym and took a shower. I had wonderful visions of sitting and reading and drinking apple cider in my newly-washed, newly-elegant state, but just as I was heating the water, A.C. knocked on the door and bounced into the room. So I entertained her for an hour or so. We walked over to ACAC to eat supper together in the Hurricane Hut. I had a delicious chicken wrap and a sweet fruit smoothie.

After supper, I went to the library to pick up some books. For Lyric we were assigned to find a book about lyric, so of course I went hunting in the bowels of the library for The Early English and Celtic Lyric. I found it, right among the Anglo-Saxon books: Ingeld and Christ, Widsith, The Guthlac Poems. The names themselves just delighted me. I wanted to check out all of them at once. :o)

I walked back to the room and studied for a little bit before RUF. As Rachel and I crossed the lawn to John Mabee for RUF, we met up with Syneva, Amanda, and Amanda's mother and two sisters. On the way into the big meeting room in the basement, we were stopped by Leslie, who had been placed in charge of surreptitiously getting people to sign a couple of birthday cards for Mr. K (it's his birthday today). There were a lot of people at RUF tonight. Jenny H.'s father and sister were visiting, and other people had brought friends. I sat in the back next to Di, who's the head of the education department and comes to RUF regularly. After RUF, I hung around, talking with people for awhile. I chatted with Tara, with Jenny H. about the literary society Tara and I want to start, with Jenny S. (we're going out for smoothies on Friday at lunch), with Esther about her work, etc. Josh K. ran around chasing David for doing something, as usual, while Charis bounced from girl to girl, being fondled and cuddled.

When people started to leave, Tara and I left, too. We drove over to Di's house. She'd opened her home for a birthday party for Mr. K. Tara and I discussed our classes and all the books we're going to read. It's encouraging having classes with Tara because she's so cheerful and excited about them, keeping me from being too much of a Puddleglum.

At Di's house, I stood in the dining room and talked with Alisha and Kathryn. People kept bustling in and out, putting food on the table--chips, cookies, cake. When Mr. K arrived, we sang a boisterous happy birthday to him (there must've been about thirty of us crowded into the house, which is a bit larger than the Ks' house). Joanna had stuck candles all over the cake, and somehow Rachel K. and Mrs. K managed to light them all without mishap. Their light glowed and winked on our faces as we sang, with big grins, watching Mr. K, who pretended alternately to be embarrassed and then to be very proud. With the help of his children, Mr. K blew all the candles out at once. He gave a little speech, very touching and warm, thanking all of us for our love. Joanna proceeded to cut the cake, handing out little pieces to everyone. I escaped the crowd in the dining room for the crowd in the kitchen. I ran into Daniel, and we spent awhile talking. Daniel turned to ask Tara a question, giving me a moment to say hi to David and Asher, whom I haven't seen since break. The house was very full of people and food and talk. Everyone seemed to be talking and eating all at once.

It was ten-thirty, so Tara and I decided to leave. David and Asher walked us out to make sure we reached the car safely in this bad neighborhood. The stars were very hard and bright overhead. We drove back to campus, shivering in the cold car, and said good-night. I ran up to the room. Rachel was already asleep. I changed as quietly as I could (keys will jingle just when you don't want them to!), and went to bed myself.

spring semester 2007, day 1

Now Playing: "Thirty Year Retrospective" by Mark O'Connor. Track 14, "Stone from Which the Arch Was Made".

In the morning, I did my devotions and ate breakfast in the room. Then I went to pick up textbooks from the bookstore at about eight-thirty. The morning was clear and chilly, crisp sun on the frozen grass. I entered ACAC through the west doors and passed the Carrellos Coffeeshop booth on my way in. Danielle and Tara were working there, so I stopped by to say hi. The bookstore was already busy, but I managed to pick up all of my books except one (for Honors), which they didn't have in stock at all. With my arms full of books, I walked back to the dorm. It was a pleasant feeling to be able to line them all up on the bookshelf. I don't have as many textbooks this semester as I had last semester, which is nice--both for money and for space. Once that was taken care of, I spent awhile sending e-mails and reading Schaff's History of the Christian Church.

At nine-thirty, I walked over to Tyrrell Hall to practice my flute. People were bustling in and out of the building, but the practice rooms were fairly empty, so I had a nice long warm-up session. Then it was time for Music History II at eleven o'clock. I always get nervous walking into upper-level classes: I feel as though I have no right to be there, and as though all the upperclassmen will be glaring down their noses at me. The class is in the same room as Music Theory I was last semester--the high fifth story room in the tower of Tyrrell. It's a big class--almost all the desks were full. Everyone seemed to know each other, and they were all gossipping and talking full-force. Dr. R substituted for Dr. P today since Dr. P is in France finishing up a teaching time. Dr. R is a plump, short man with a very soft voice. He had some trouble getting the class to quiet down. But he's also very enthusiastic about the music, so it will be fun to have him at least for the first week. We're starting out with Vivaldi, Couperin, and Rameau, all high Baroque chaps.

After class, I walked to the cafeteria for lunch. Hardly anyone was there yet. I sat alone in a booth and read Schaff. David Moore did stop by to say hi. After lunch, I sat up in my room, reading Schaff. I managed to finish Schaff in time for Honors at two o'clock.

Honors is over in Chapman Hall, in the Dean's conference room--the room with the long wooden table and the tall glass windows, through which I watched the elm leaves go gold my first semester at TU during Dr. G's Honors class. Once again, the class was fairly full. James, Rachel, and a lot of familiar faces are in the class. Dr. M, the professor, is an older man with thick, white hair, well-built. He likes to blink when he talks, and he likes to talk a lot. At least he's excited about the subject at hand, though, and the rabbit trails are all related to that (unlike certain other Honors professors I could mention...). Honors this semester is the History and Philosophy of Science, so of course we're reading Darwin. Dr. M was very careful to try to separate religion and science, and talked about how they're at odds. He was also very careful to put "truth" and "reality" on the edge, and begged even us "religious" folks to find some use for Darwin. But then he was also careful to undercut or contradict almost all his statements on the subject, so we'll see how that turns out.

After Honors, I stopped by the room briefly with Rachel, to pick up the mail, etc. Then I walked to orchestra. On my way out the door to orchestra, I ran into Eleanor, Jenny H., and Amy. Loud greetings and happy hugs all round. They'd just come back from a lab in Kep. I walked on to orchestra alone, and hung about uneasily in the hall outside the room. The room that the orchestra uses to practice is actually in the band building, where the old gym, the swimming pool, and the athletic offices are. It's tiered, with lockers round the edges, and instruments and black instrument cases lying about in the corners like a colony of sea lions. I greeted Syneva and Kevin happily when they arrived, but I still felt like a piece of lost baggage. I could feel everyone eyeing me curiously: most of these music people know each other already. When Dr. W, the conductor, bustled briskly into the room, I stopped him on his way to the podium. "Dr. W," I began. "Dr. W," he laughed, "How sweet. Mr. W will do." He remembered my e-mail and told me that he wanted me to "read with the ladies" today. So I hauled myself up through the maze of chairs and stands and instruments to the flute section, where three girls were warming up. I already know Laura (first flute) and Jennifer (second flute), but I hadn't met Mary (piccolo) before. They made room for me so that I could share a stand with Jennifer. We started off running through the last movement of Tchaikovsky's "Little Russian" symphony. Dr. W led it very fast, and I was lost, of course. I tooted as quietly as I could under the orchestra and tapped my foot furiously. When we finished the run-through, and the conductor settled down to drill the strings on their bowing, I had the chance to look at the music a bit. It actually isn't hard at all, especially since I have second part, so when we picked up again with full orchestra, I had an easier time of it. Then we read through a Beethoven overture, in which the same thing happened. Dr. W worked with the strings mostly, trying to get them to play together and do proper dynamics. Thankfully the viola section has expanded from two to four ("Santa sent some violas!" Dr. W said), so that's some progress, though some of the violins have disappeared over the break. The third piece, by Doppler, is Laura's flute concerto. Dr. W only needed one second flutist for this, so I quietly departed.

On my way out, I found myself walking with Kevin, who also wasn't needed. I asked him about his family's trip to Italy over the break. We got about as far as Zink when we heard Alisha and Kathryn shouting at us, hurrying over the green lawn in the cool evening shadows. They'd been playing socketball. Alisha's face was very flushed, and Kathryn's dark curls stuck to her forehead with sweat. Then Crystal, Jenny H., and Jenny's sister Julia (who's visiting) ran up behind us. Weall walked along for awhile together through the blue gloaming, jabbering like a bunch of happy starlings.

At Lottie, I went inside with Crystal, Jenny, and Julia. Crystal took me to see her room, which she'd tidied up. She gave me a present, too: a lovely journal with a brocade cover like Asian silk. I was delighted. Weighed down with all my studies, and with the awfulness of my playing in orchestra, I went up to my room, dumped my things, changed clothes, and walked to the gym to run. I ran for half-an-hour and then walked briskly back to Lottie. Orion was shining over the library, and the sunset was hovering behind the skyscrapers, blue like the dim glow of an opal. When I opened the door to the room, the telephone was ringing. Out-of-breath, I picked it up, and heard Tara's voice on the other end. We agreed to meet in twenty minutes for supper. I showered briskly, left my half of the room in a mess, and hurried over to the caf.

In the caf, I found Bob, Kevin, and Amy eating together, so I joined them. Tara and Crystal came, too. We joked around for awhile, talking about Italy, food, our classes, poetry, working out, etc. . I asked Bob if he would be interested in rooming with Philip next year. “Sure!” was his response. Everyone else at the table rippled with excitement. “Tell Philip that we’re all ecstatic at the prospect of having him here!” Kevin said. Tara and I left at about seven-thirty. I walked over to Syneva's apartment to pick up the Music History textbook (which I'm borrowing from her for the semester--who knows what I'll do for MH I my senior year!). Then I went to the Penthouse to see Tara and Alisha. When Tara opened the door of their apartment, I was surprised: they've got furniture! Joanna is loaning them a sofa, a chair, and a TV for the semester. "So now we can watch movies," Tara chuckled happily. Alisha had just emerged from the shower when I arrived. She sat down on the sofa to rub lotion on her arms and legs, while Tara and I sat on the floor. Tara shared her father's soft oatmeal-and-raisin cookies with us. We sat and talked for half-an-hour or so. Mostly Alisha and Tara talked: talked about weird stories about boys, and their friends at home, and strange skin ailments. Most of it was funny and made me chuckle. Derek Webb played on Tara's laptop, reverent hymns and songs. I had a feeling of safeness settle over me again, perfectly content just to sit and listen. No expectations or demands, no requirements--just letting them do the talking, being quiet.

Alisha had RUF leaders' group meeting at 9:00, so when she left, I invited Tara over to the room for the evening. Rachel was there, working on her computer. I brewed tea for the three of us. We tried out the fancy new tea my mother had sent back with me. Licorice spice for Tara and white chai for me. I'm not sure what Rachel had. We talked for awhile about classes and such. Tara was curious about our Honors classes, so we told her about them. She played a Capercaillie song for us, which I liked. In Gaelic, similar to the Irish dance music Mrs. H uses. Now the three of us are working on our computers: Rachel at her desk, Tara and me on the floor. Tara's gorgeous bright red scarf lies splashed over her jade green coat like a dragon's wing.

God bless, everyone!

the last part

The end of "Pearl and Peach" is up on Through A Glass Darkly.

more story

There's more of "Pearl and Peach" up on Through A Glass Darkly.

a good week

Now Playing: "Thirty-Year Retrospective" by Mark O'Connor. Track 2, "Butterfly's Day Out".

Monday: Horsing around with the cousins, especially flying kites with Peter.

Tuesday: Hobbits' sleepover at my house! Lots of giggles and silly conversations. Watching Superman Returns and taking personality quizzes for each other online. Haven't had that much fun with some of my best friends in a long time. :o)

Wednesday: Another sleepover at the Spitlers' house for all the girls. Watching Lady in the Water and sitting next to a roaring fire in the stove.

Thursday: Going to the National Cowboy and Western Hall of Fame with the Wests. The gorgeous landscapes in the art galleries and Mr. West's spicy venison sausage for lunch.

Friday: Spending practically all afternoon reading, including Matthew Henry's commentary on Ephesians, a "Smithsonian" magazine, G.K. Chesterton's "The Ballad of the White Horse", and C.S. Lewis's The Weight of Glory. Going for a walk with my mother around the lake, seeing a heron and a kingfisher. Rain this evening, soft on the street.

More of "Pearl and Peach" is up on Through A Glass Darkly. It gets weirder and weirder....

Part I

There is now a piece of "creative" writing up on Through a Glass darkly for your reading enjoyment.

http://the-aeolian-harp.blogspot.com/

a bunch of funny-looking people

Now Playing: "Looney Tunes" short.

The cousins and siblings are all parked in front of the TV, which gives me the chance to write. Laura beams at me from the rocking chair, her braces and eyes sparkling, as the two little gophers say, "And think how much better it'll be when we have electricity!"

I woke up this morning to the chatter of little girls. To be precise, it was Annalee bursting into Laura's room, squealing, "We can open our stockings now!" Downstairs, I found Ross, Andrew, Laura, Lillian, and Mary eating breakfast. No one eats breakfast all at once. I drank hot tea and ate apple strudel bread with cranberries in it. Mary hopped around, begging for a grapefruit. My mother was already busy in the kitchen, fixing the ham.

When Grammy arrived, she realized that she'd forgotten her presents. So she gave me her car keys, and I got to drive her new Buick back to her house. That was fun. :o) It's nice to drive a car that doesn't cough when you accelerate, or groan when you go over bumps, or quack when you're quietly minding your own business. A cold north wind scoured the brown fields under a blue sky--a broad horizon, high sky day.

Back inside, I sat around for awhile, reading The Everlasting Man and listening to people talk. Once everyone was ready, it was time to open presents. We gathered in the living room. I handed out the presents: stockings first. Then I handed out Grammy's presents to the Fearings. Mary was delighted with a white plush cat in a green purse. Next were my parents' presents: giftcards for all the kids, and a basket with chocolates in it for Aunt Lisa and Uncle Kirk. Aunt Lisa and Uncle Kirk gave all of us chocolate Hershey's bars, and Peter handed out boxes of cherry cordials to everyone. Lots of sugar!

Lillian, Laura, and Annalee had all trotted off to San Born Lake. Uncle Kirk had mysteriously disappeared. Grammy realized that she'd also forgotten her pills, so she decided to drive back to her house. Aunt Lisa, chafing Ross to go for a run, suggested that he go along, so he reluctantly tied on his shoes and left. I myself was becoming edgy. I bounced into the study and dragged Philip and Stephen out, and managed to pick up Andrew and Peter along the way, to walk around San Born Lake. We all wore hoodies and tied the hoods around our faces.

The area around the lake was cold and windy. Desolate under the scouring wind. The wind howled and rocked in the branches of the trees, ruffling the lake. I saw deer prints in the mud. As we rounded a corner between juniper trees, we bumped into Uncle Kirk, who said that we looked like gnomes going down the path in our pointed hoods. He'd been outside "GPSing" with his new handheld GPS mapping device. We trooped behind him down the path, in quest of "nothing", a point he'd labeled on the map of the area. "We're about thirty-five feet away," Uncle Kirk announced. We crunched off the path, between tall stems of sumac and goldenrod, and into a clump of juniper trees, where the grass was silvery and velvety. "Here's nothing," he said. Andrew and Peter had already discovered the beaver's dam and were clambering along it. The rest of us followed suit. I led us up the steep bank on the far side and onto a flat clearing, where the grass was thick and spongy. Uncle Kirk and Andrew climbed the ridge above the clearing, standing silhouetted against the sky. I scrambled after them. The wind hit my face, sweeping over the field. We could see the pale yellow of the dry grass in the clearing, falling away to the tangle of willow and cottonwood trees along the creekbed.

Uncle Kirk decided that it was time to go home, so we crossed the creek, back to the path. The boys and I continued around the lake. Nary a sight of the little girls did we see, though we walked very quietly on the muddy trail--soundlessly, the rushing of the wind in the trees covering any slight noise we made. As we came out in the meadow on the other side of the lake, we spotted my father, Uncle Kirk, and Mary strolling down the path toward home. We ran to catch up with them. Uncle Kirk followed his GPS's directions home, nearly bumping into a car in the street, to Mary's amusement.

At home, we all had to take off our shoes at the door, thanks to the caked mud. Grandma and Grandpa, my father's parents, had arrived, and were sitting in the dining room, talking with Grammy, while my parents and Aunt Lisa worked on cooking. Mary popped by occasionally to swipe a black olive off the relish tray. I propped my legs up on a chair and kept reading.

Ross and I set the table. My parents had pushed together most of our tables, covered them with bright red tablecloths, and made a centerpiece out of a gold garland and a holly garland and candlesticks. Once the plates and silverware were around, I agonized over where to seat everyone. We sat down to eat at about twelve-thirty. Adults at one end, small ones at the other. The adults talked about real estate and businesses and new restaurants. The girls chattered and giggled. The boys stoically ate their ham and potatoes. Before any of the children could eat dessert, we lined up on the stairs for a group photo. And then we were allowed to eat: chocolate-chip cookies, pecan pie, and pumpkin pie. I had to drink black spice tea to balance out the incredible sweetness of the brown sugar in the pecan pie.

After lunch, Peter and I decided to go kite-flying at Boomer Lake. Somehow, we picked up the rest of the motley crew on the way so that the entire horde of kids, from Uncle Kirk to Mary, decided to come along, except Stephen, who was too engrossed in the computer. (Well, we did ask Uncle Kirk to come, just to make sure nothing disastrous happened with the kites.) And because the other boys were coming, we picked up a football and a soccerball along the way out.

We ran across the big highway to Boomer Lake--the feeling of freedom stolen by danger as we burst through the juniper trees and onto the big open field below the water tower, looking out over the lake. The girls tootled off to play on the playground. Uncle Kirk helped Peter tie his kite securely to its nylon string. Andrew helped me get my kite up. The wind was changing toward the west, blowing very strong. My kite pulled hard. And then, all of a sudden, it plunged nose-down and drove itself into the crown of a big pine tree further down the hill. I groaned. "Sorry, E--!" Uncle Kirk called matter-of-factly. "That's the first time that kite has ever been in a tree," I growled. "Looks like the last time, too," Andrew said, coming up beside me and tugging on the string. "Thanks," I retorted. Ross and Philip ran down the hill and stood under the tree, staring up. "Tug!" Ross yelled, "Tug harder!" as the wind scoured over the top of the tree. Andrew yanked on the string. "Pull! Pull!" the older boys yelled. Andrew tangled the sleeves of his hoodie into the string, and between his yanking, and the wind's blowing, the kite finally slipped free of the bouncing branches.

With Philip's help, I reeled in the kite and took out the supporting plastic bar so that it wouldn't present a surface for the wind. Everyone else, except Peter and Annalee, trailed off downhill. I bundled up my kite and set it down in the lee of a juniper tree. Peter had got his smaller kite up successfully. The nylon fabric flapped in the wind and the thread hummed tensely. Silhouetted against the pale blue sky, the kite was a beautiful thing, bright colors glowing in the sunshine between black seams. The only trouble was that, in the strong wind, the kite kept looping down, swivelling between the two pine trees lower down the hill and the golden rain tree closer to the water tower. Every ten seconds or so, it would loop-de-loop down and bang! Its triangular nose would slam into the ground. Annalee stood faithfully underneath it and picked it up every time, holding it high over her head with both arms. The kite kept buzzing her curly blond hair before it hit the ground. "It's trying to give you a haircut!" Peter and I laughed to her across the field. "Would you like to have a try?" Peter asked. Reluctantly, I took the spool. The familiar tug of the kite on my hands was like the pull of a live thing, the kite itself like a temperamental animal on the other end of a leash. Swerving to and fro, looping down, leaping suddenly up, hovering or yanking. I managed to keep it airborne for five or ten minutes before fluttered gracefully downward for Annalee to pick up again. We finally decided that it was time to reel it in. "I've only reeled in this kite once. Every other time, it's crashed!" Peter chuckled. We untangled the string from the grass and walked down the hill.

Everyone else was inside the soccer court. Like a tennis court: a long rectangle of asphalt, with wooden boards built up probably four feet all the way round, and chain link above that so that playing soccer in the court was like playing indoor soccer. Just as we arrived, Uncle Kirk and Ross were splitting everyone into teams for a game. Peter, Andrew, Ross, and Lillian were on one team, with Philip, Laura, Annalee, Uncle Kirk, and me on the other team. Marry trotted back and forth, kicking the oak leaves drifted in the corners, her wispy hair almost white in the sunshine.

We played a good hard match--at least taking into account the fact that half our players haven't played soccer in at least four or five years. The ball ricocheted off the wooden walls and skipped over the cracks in the concrete, which had been poorly patched with tar. We made a couple of goals, but the other team made three.

Back at home, the grandparents were still sitting around, drinking coffee and tea. After my father's parents left, my mother and Aunt Lisa managed to collect the little girls so that they could finish their baskets. I moved to the corner of the dining room, with my legs stuck out in front of me, Aragorn-style, and went on reading. "I have a feeling that you're like our cats. You like to be near things, but not participating," Aunt Lisa chuckled. "Once when I wanted to gather the cats so that they could go to the vet, I decided that all I needed to do to catch them was to go out in the front yard and start gardening. Not five minutes had gone by before there they were, all three of them, watching me and having a good old time." I grinned, and finished my book. I lounged around and stroked Mandy (who purred reluctantly when I rubbed her stomach) and gave Annalee helpful hints about binding the rim of her basket.

Upstairs, I found Andrew and Peter playing computer games, Ross reading The Gulag Archipelago on the floor amid a scatter of plastic food (courtesy the little girls), and Mary scampering upstairs into Laura's room with Stephen, draped in a maroon velveteen blanket, prowling after her. "He's the tickle monster!" she squealed. Peter and Annalee appeared on the scene, attracted by the promise of rough-and-tumble fun. When Uncle Kirk emerged from the bedroom, where he and Aunt Lisa are staying, Annalee begged him to play with them. So I found them an old blanket, and Annalee proceeded first to drape him in it and then to clamber on top of him while he stood on his four legs on the floor. Mary scrambled on, too. Uncle Kirk, from under the blanket, reached out a long hand and grabbed Peter's ankle. "No, no, no!" Peter squawked as Uncle Kirk dragged him along the carpet and proceeded to tickle him. Somehow, Peter ended up at the bottom of the heap, until Uncle Kirk switched to tickling Annalee instead. He seized her ankle through the blanket. "Hm, what's this doing here?" he said, and proceeded to tickle it mercilessly while she giggled and wheezed on the other end. She has a very funny little giggle, and even when he stopped tickling, she couldn't stop giggling. I lay on the sofa and laughed and laughed. Somehow, Peter ended up on the bottom every time, usually with Annalee sandwiched between Uncle Kirk and Peter while Mary pranced around the edge of the melee.

This kept going for quite awhile--yells, shouts, laughs, squeals, giggles, tangles of disordered hair and rumpled blanket--until someone called upstairs that it was suppertime. My parents had a somewhat difficult time getting everyone settled down enough to eat. We ate roast beef and leftovers for supper. All the kids were very hyper--very hyper. "Oh, my, it's only six o'clock," Aunt Lisa said with a hint of disgust. I suggested a movie to my father, and he immediately approved the idea, so the girls all got marched upstairs to take baths before the movie. The rest of us sat around the dining room table, talking. Every so often, one of the other kids would pop by to swipe a cookie.

It was too hard to get everyone's attention by verbal call, so Stephen and I turned on the TV. As soon as the cheerful, tin-music-box theme of "Looney Tunes" started to play, kids emerged out of cracks and crannies. Philip and Ross from their rooms, Peter and Andrew from the computer, the girls from the shower. Even the adults gathered around to watch, while my father set out chairs. We watched two "Looney Tunes" shorts, and are now watching The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Uncle Kirk sits at the other end of the sofa, with Mary snuggled beside him. Aunt Lisa just finished "Mary's" basket (though almost everyone except Mary has worked on it). When she handed it to Mary, the grin lit up Mary's little face. My father perches on the piano bench, Andrew has been nestled in the armchair, Peter sits in a rocking chair, Lillian, Laura, and Annalee flit about, and Aunt Lisa works on her other baskets. Grammy was sitting on the chair at the end of the sofa, but she's gone now. Ross and Andrew are upstairs playing on the computer now, I think.

To quote Father Christmas, "Long live Aslan--and Merry Christmas!" to all of you.

the picture on my banner

People are asking about the picture on my banner. It was taken by Amy S. in Doubleshot Coffee Company in Tulsa. Thanks to her! She takes "artsy" pictures. :o)

having some fun

check photobucket!

pictures are up on photobucket

I should make this plain: Thank you, Sarah, for a gorgeous dress! I borrowed Sarah's formal gown, which was a birthday present to her from her younger sisters. It's a beautiful piece of work, and I really enjoyed wearing it. It made my evening spectacular. I'm thankful for such a trusting friend.

Go to www.photobucket.com
Password: psalm84
Username: Elfellyn
The file named Colle Christmas Ball.

Enjoy!

Tastes sweet.

Now Playing: "Thirty-Year Retrospective" by Mark O'Connor. Track 3, "Flight Home".

To Kevin and Crystal, if they read this: I was just listening to the radio, and they reviewed Sufjan Stevens's Christmas CD. It made me so happy! Good music. :o)

December 21, 2006: Colle Family Christmas Ball, Marland Mansion, Ponca City, Oklahoma

At six forty-five, I drove Grant V. and Philip to the Marland Mansion for the Colle family Christmas ball. I felt plastic and elegant, my face thick with makeup, my skirts scrunched together under the steering wheel. Then, as I walked beside Philip toward the mansion, delight surged up in me. The grand house, glowing in every window, the bracing cold air, my skirts swaying around my ankles—perfectly lovely. Like a retelling of a fairytale. We stepped through the heavy wooden doors and into the foyer. Josiah, the youngest Colle boy, took our tickets. Philip and I walked down the three grand flights of stairs, on either side of the banister, which was entwined with garlands of greenery, silver lights, and gold ribbon. We were among the first to arrive. Everyone stood around, the mix of stiffness and excitement. Matt took Tara into the ballroom and showed her some swing moves, tipping her back and spinning her while she laughed. Wreaths and little trees decorated the refreshment table, where a bowl of pink punch and trays of cookies were nestled among the greenery.

Slowly, people entered the room, filing down the long staircase. Black suits, bright dresses. David, Spencer, and David wore tweed caps. Matt asked me to be his partner for the Grand March. As we lined up for the procession, I glanced back over my shoulder and gasped. So many couples were lined up behind us! Faces, pressed forward, smiling. And still more people were descending the grand staircase to join, ladies holding up their skirts with gloved hands. The Grand March is one of the best parts of the dance. Elegant and cheerful. “It’s impossible not to smile when you’re doing this sort of thing,” Matt chuckled, “because everyone else is smiling.” Spencer and Syneva led us in a long line—a long snaking line of couples, probably about forty couples. Follow-the-leader, round and round the room, quick stepping in time to the music. Couples following couples, then joining hands in a long weaving line, snaking around, tying an intricate knot of moving bodies, flashing shoes, swishing skirts, then untying itself, couples pairing up again. Keep stepping in time to the music, the rustle of skirts, the click of soles, the murmur of voices over the medieval Christmas carol. Then Syneva and Spencer made a bridge, and the couple behind passed through and made a bridge beside them, and the next, and the next, until a long line of arches had formed. Matt and I stooped down, he leading me by my gloved hand under the arched arms. Light patterned the tiled floor, stripes like branches of a tree, hands growing together, skirts and slacks next to each other. Then we came to the end of the tunnel and made our own arch, to continue the tunnel, and other couples passed through, and stood beside us. The tunnel dissolved into itself. Couples again, following each other. Mr. and Mrs. Colle stood at the foot of the ballroom, and each couple came up to them in turn, bow and courtesy. Then the couples joined into rows of four, bow and courtesy. Then in lines of eight, bow and courtesy. When the music ended, we were all standing in lines of eight, facing the Colles. Mr. Colle welcomed everyone, his genteel voice drawling slightly, echoing over the assembled crowd—faces turned up toward him, gentle light glowing on careful costumes. “Gentlemen, our job is to give the ladies a good time. So unless you are married or engaged, find a new partner for each dance, and make sure no lady is sitting unless she wants to,” he directed.

Then the dancing began in earnest. Since there were so many people, probably about ninety, we had good dances going in both rooms, with a few spectators left over to hover around the dessert table. Syneva and Rachel, her sister, called the dances. We went through each one without music. Then when the music started, we were “on our own”, though often during the harder ones a murmuring undercurrent of whispered counts ran under the music, everyone trying to keep time as they danced. The music was mostly Celtic and medieval, Christmas carols and Christmas songs. Harpsichord, guitar, mandolin, pipe, flute, violins, cellos. We danced the Scottish Wheel, the Fairfield Fancy, the Middleton, the Virginia Reel, the Waves of Tory, the Spanish Waltz, the Mr. Darcy dance, the Emma dance, the Postease, and the Dashing White Sergeant, though not in that order. Last night at the practice Syneva had run through them from easiest to hardest; tonight, they interspersed the dances. We danced the Postease three times, for instance, and the Virginia Reel twice in a row. Between dances, there was the shuffle for partners, gentlemen looking around for ladies, ladies knotting together to chat briefly before whisked off to join another partner.

I danced the Virginia Reel with Andrew. It was glorious fun, sasheing up and down the line. David Moore was my partner for the Emma dance—the main thing I remember was the sudden short twirls, bursts of heady dizziness as my dress spun out to curve properly around my ankles again, back in line. When we reached the top of the line, having progressed down the floor, we had to stand out a turn, so David waltzed me, going in fancy twists and circles. Dance after dance, the patterns repeated from dance to dance. In the inner room, it was very warm, but the outer room was cold, where one of the iron-wrought doors had been propped open. Dancing the Middleton with Philip, I shivered as we passed the door, the cold night air on my bare arms. I stood out during the first round of Postease, to take pictures. Almost as fun to watch as to dance, to see the flying feet, the spinning arms, the faces of the dancers breaking into broad grins. Alisha and Philip were partners in a set that included Matt and Tara, and I took pictures of them, long curls and coattails flying.

It seemed like a very long time later when Mr. Colle announced the “intermission”, a twenty-minute break halfway through the night. I sat down briefly on a bench, and Philip courteously brought me some water. My feet in the golden sandals ached a little, but they were mostly numb enough that I didn’t feel much. Tara had taken off her shoes upon reaching the mansion, and pattered around in her bare feet. During the break, Syneva announced that they would dance a fast polka in the outer room. The outer room filled with couples. To the Cossack dance from the second half of “The Nutcracker”, the couples swirled around the room. Matt and Syneva danced together. Almost impossibly fast, the music pulled the dancers in a torrent of galloping feet. I grinned, watching Syneva’s face as she pursed her lips and flung up her eyebrows, like a wide-eyed doll, her white satin skirts spinning out over her soft black slippers.

After the polka, Mandi somehow managed to pull together all the RUFers on the grand staircase for a group picture. First, all the girls stood on the balcony above the staircase: one flight of stairs runs down, and two other flights curve up from the foyer, to enter the grand ballroom on the upper floor. We stood where these two other flights meet, above the archway. Eight of us, and Alisha’s friend, in our gowns and jewels and upswept hair. Then everyone stood on the grand staircase. Mandi stood below us and took a picture up toward us.

After the intermission, dancing resumed with the Postease. Then came the Broom Waltz: a rather comic dance in which there are one too many gentlemen, and one gentleman has to dance with the broom until he can find a female partner. I sat this one out, watching on the fringe. Colors! Black, grey, silver, brown, blue for the gentlemen. Scarlet, pink, burgundy, blue, white, black for the ladies. The red dresses of the Ponca City basketball girls, and Mandi’s jade green dress with the gold overslip. We danced several more, and then the Gloria dance. I sat that one out, too. Quite a simple dance. Instead of music, everyone sang, and then, on the “Hosanna in excelsis” bit, the girls jumped, the gentlemen guiding them, to the next partner. Skirts flared outward, muscles tensed, an elegant parade, like the petals of a wind-blown flower.

Everyone was becoming tired by this time. We danced the Dashing White Sergeant again, and then the Mr. Darcy dance. The Mr. Darcy dance was to “Silent Night”, so slow and serene that I began to feel sleepy, but with a sort of elegant, crystalline awareness, so tired that it took precise effort to move each muscle for the stately steps. Matt asked me to be his partner. As the dance began, he glanced toward a corner and shook his head. “There’s my brother sitting like a cat next to a girl who could be dancing!” he sighed, seeing Andrew lazing next to Joanna. After the Mr. Darcy dance, we danced the Postease one last time. Matt L. was my partner for this one, in a set with Alisha and several other RUFers. At first the music sounded slow, with a bass beat. Then the instruments came in, and everyone clapped and cheered. Faster and faster we danced, until the gentlemen were sweating, and the ladies’ hair was quite disarrayed. I couldn’t stop laughing. The music kept going and going, fast, the pulsing, impetuous drive of the fiddles and pipes holding us relentlessly in its pattern so that we couldn’t help but laugh and keep dancing. Fast feet, quick hands, quick spins, fast turns into place. Skirts whirling, feet stomping. Like flying, almost. It made me happier than I’ve been in a long time. When the music finally ended, the two rooms erupted with cheers and clapping.

Mr. Colle, standing under the archway between the two rooms, thanked everyone for coming. Then Syneva, in her sweet, pure voice, started to sing the doxology. Her soprano spiraled up, sending echoes beyond the rafters as the rest of the guests joined. Reverently slow, deeply thankful. It ended with clapping and bursts of “Merry Christmas!” all round. Then it was time for good-byes, final pictures, hugs. The mansion emptied quickly, a stream of people stepping up the stairs. Philip lent me his jacket as we crossed over the threshold and into the chilly night. I drove us back to the Colles’ house.

At the Colles’ house, everyone collapsed. We sat around in the living room, laughing and talking, though more subdued than we had been. Andrew and Joanna left to drive back to Tulsa. Alisha was hungry, not having eaten any supper in the rush to dress for the ball, so Syneva, Alisha, and I went scouting into the kitchen. Mrs. Colle had turned on the crock pot with the soup in it. Alisha sipped her soup while I munched a cookie. We talked quietly, everyone relaxing. An undercurrent of laughter beneath the subdued voices. Alisha, Syneva, and I curled up on the sofa together, a sea of satin and tulle, still in our dresses, our skirts poofing out over our knees. Spencer and David Moore left to drive back to Stillwater, so we said our good-byes to them.

I roused myself enough to dive downstairs, change clothes, shower, and then patter back upstairs again in my pajamas, with Philip’s sweater over my clothes to make it modest. I curled up on the living room floor beside Tara. Everyone was still sitting around, talking. Grant and Matt L. had a very technical conversation about mathematics by the fireplace. Syneva and Stefni dozed on the sofa. Alisha, David McMillan, and Philip discussed colleges. Tara curled up like a little mouse on the floor. I sprawled out to write in my journal about the day. “What number is that?” Syneva asked me. “Sixty-three,” I said, checking inside the front cover. Because of a momentary silence, everyone had heard her question. “You’ve written in sixty-three books! What do you do with them all?” someone marveled. That started the usual conversation about journals, everyone else talking about how they either don’t have time/discipline to write, or about how they only write occasionally, to relieve stress—while I, minding my own business, just kept writing.

Finally, a little after two o’clock a.m., common consensus seemed to develop that it was bedtime. Tara and I led the girls downstairs, and I stretched out on my airmattress. There was still a soft bustle of feet and voices, sparse conversation as girls got ready for bed. As I drifted off to sleep, I could hear Alisha and Catharine in the big bed (Tara and I slept on airmattresses on the floor of Rachel Colle’s room, while Alisha and Catharine slept in her double bed) whispering and giggling.