I Follow Thee

I have somehow managed to subscribe to my own blog, leaving me to think I am subconsciously led by conceit. Which raises the question, what else have I done unawares?

Cycling to a Brighter Future

Melissa recently bought new tires for her bicycle and today she cycled off to Ben's house with her messenger bag and the two new tires strapped cross-wise on her chest, muttering something about her unwieldy burden and riding toward a certain and inevitable doom. After about an hour or so, she came back to the apartment with Christine and Ben in tow, all equal bicycle enthusiasts. Christine couldn't stay for long, but Ben lingered, and he and Melissa talked about gas emissions, eco-friendly cars, diesel fuel, teaching positions, and job opportunities. And as for myself? I stood on the balcony and blew bubbles.

"I'm thinking diesel."

Words of Night

On this most quiet of evenings, Rachel and I sit in the living room, listening to piano music and doing homework. Many of my friends are off on a pub crawl, which would be entirely wasted on me, and so I stayed home to read books and take notes on Shakespeare's influence on the English language, though I have largely given up on writing any more on my six to eight page linguistics paper due Monday. Seven books sit next to me on the sofa, patiently waiting for me to turn their pages. Rachel lounges in her chair across from me, grading math homework and rustling papers and nodding kindly at my outburst of "Into the breach once more!" It is ten forty five on a Saturday evening and I am bone tired.

The most exciting thing that has happened so far was when I typed in "Pride and Prejudice soundtrack" into the search bar on Youtube and then clicked on the "Opening Title Music 1995" in the results section.
At the first energetic strains of music, a quick, lively piano, Rachel looks up from her papers and fixes me with a look. "Well, this is intimidating."
I blink at her. "What?"
She holds up a paper with dark pencil scribblings of equations. "This."
"Ah." Some poor math student has had a hard time of it. I look back at my book. "Yes, that would make more sense."

I have four papers--not six, as was previously thought--coming up.

- 6-8 page linguistics paper due Monday
- 10-15 page capstone English creative piece due Thursday
- 3-4 page capstone English paper "ruminating" (Professor's words, not mine) on the essence of the class and what I have learned as a graduating senior, due final day of class
- 8-10 page paper for post-modern literature class (possibly comparative, on two short stories), due next Monday
- final revision of short stories due final day of class

This is nothing. I shall prevail.

- Sanna


 .

Have at thee!

I have great friends.

Writing Freedom

It is now exactly eleven o'clock at night and I am very, very tired. I awoke at six thirty in the morning and readied myself for the day ahead and walked to school early in the morning, despite the fact that I had the day off for academic advising. I sat down in Gary's office and he gave me the day's schedule and informed me that I would be bringing Ellen Klages and Pam Munoz Ryan around to their sessions and begin by picking them up at the conference center at eight twenty. I walked over in the rain, attempting to put my umbrella together (some assembly required since I broke it in two with my unnatural strength) and beat back the weather. I brought Ms. Pam to the Fine Arts Center auditorium and then escorted Ms. Ellen to the Gezon to her first meeting and then I ran all the way back to make sure Ms. Pam was finding everything to her satisfaction. By the time I arrived back, my heart was pumping and a sweat beaded my forehead as I slid down into a seat, all while the auditorium slowly filled with middle schoolers that had come for the Youth Writing Festival, held here at the college over the next few days.

 Pam discusses her latest book Tony Baloney

 
 In her session, Pam introduced herself and the books she had written, at which point I realized that I had read one of her books as a kid, lying on the old blue carpet in my school's library, the air con humming in my ears and rain falling outside, steadily, against glass panes and red roofing tiles. It was Riding Freedom, a story which any tomboy could appreciate.

 

 Later in the afternoon, Ms. Pam had a book signing, and I assisted by weeding out the "White Notes" from the "Books," by which I mean I walked up and down the line of hopefuls and told those kids with white notebooks, which they had been given at the commencement of the festival, that Ms. Ryan would only be signing actual copies of her books--not notebooks--as we were pressed for time. I wore my maroon, velvet jacket with the gold buttons and I cut quite the imposing figure as I paced through the maddening crowds or stood by the wayside, arms crossed over my chest. I felt a bit like a body guard, supposedly protecting this author from the hordes of uncouth, middle-schooled savages just waiting to tear her apart for an autograph.

 Slightly damp savages ready to pounce

Middle-schoolers gathering in the lower lobby for boxed lunches and a book fair

 

Pam signs autographs

The afternoon for me ended in the English department, where we all had boxed lunches and after that I went home to rest for a few hours before leaving to go to the Residents' Banquet at The Bluff. I put on my gray dress and stockings and shoes (which I bought in Malaysia ever so many years ago) and off I went into the night--to return, of course, at ten o'clock and attempt to read Gilead by Marilynne Robinson.

No, really. I'm in Paris.

And with this, I conclude the day--a thought to lull you to sleep: 

"I saw a bubble float past my window, fat and wobbly and ripening toward that dragonfly blue they turn just before they burst."                                                     -- Gilead, Marilynne Robinson

Good-bye Stars, Good-bye Air

Today was rather a strange day. At eleven fifty-five, Bekah, Jennifer, and I drove to the Twisted Rooster, a restaurant, to meet Griffin Jackson, Schmitty, and Randy Testa for lunch. Randy Testa works for Walden Media, and we got to meet him and talk with him about education and the value of movies. He is a very passionate man. I ate a blackened chicken sandwich and drank quite possibly the best strawberry lemonade I have ever had in my life.

After this, I followed Jennifer to the costume department and talked with the ladies there, who were busy with their sewing. I have never been so accomplished as to be able to sew well; I have sewn two dresses and a blouse and I helped with the costumes for my high school's performance of A Christmas Carol, but all under the supervision of someone with far more experience. At two thirty, I said good-bye and returned to the English department, where I stopped by Gary's office and helped him tie ribbons on the presents destined to fall into the hands of this year's winners of the Youth Writing Festival.

 I did not take this picture.

At three forty-five, Randy Testa spoke in the department lobby on internships at Walden Media, which I can never have simply because I am neither an undergraduate nor a graduate. But I did not begrudge those who were able to take part in it. I went home after the presentation and arrived in my apartment at five o'clock, just as the rain was starting up again. It fell in sheets, hard and fast and gray, and I was reminded briefly of the rains in Singapore. A tornado warning was issued at six thirty-eight, and the rain outside turned into white pieces of hard, cold hail. (At which Melissa retorted, "Well, it's certainly not hailing inside.") At seven forty-five, the rain stopped, and I walked over to the DeVos Center to watch The Voyage of the Dawn Treader in the Bytwerk Theater.

I definitely took this picture.

 To once more hear of Narnia made my spirit lift. To remember the times that my father read those books to me at bedtime, my ear pressed into his ribs to hear his voice tremble through his chest, when I thumbed through my worn copy of The Horse and His Boy, when I was raised by my brave, slightly mad, always colourful childhood imagination. I could not help but cry at the good-byes at the end of the movie, because I was reminded that life is an incessant moving forward, a constant turning around the next corner, a perpetual game of good-bye. I have been saying good-bye for a very long time.

Tomorrow--the bright frontier, the future glory--is another day, clean, rain-washed, and I will wake in the morning light to better adventures yet.

Dear Natalie

I just found out that I have another paper, meaning I now have six papers all in all to write. But no matter. I have yet to be struck with an impending sense of doom, which should hit any mortal at this point in the year. All I can think of is summer and what I shall do in Edinburgh. I thought it best to compile a list now.

Climb Arthur's Seat
Have tea time with Natalie
Read many books and write many stories
Sit in a cafe and drink hot chocolate
Walk along the Royal Mile again

 What else shall I do?

Happy Resurrection Day!

I went to church, and I felt slightly sacrilegious taking pictures in church. But hey, if I never take pictures I never take pictures.

 A Pew with a View

 Ben reprimands me with a raised eyebrow

 Sneaking a peek over dad's shoulder

After the service, there was an Easter egg hunt on the church grounds. Ben and John were to round up all the kids and lay out the basic rules, like "If you see someone smaller than you, do not hesitate to shove them out of the way and take their egg," which was met with vehement protestation from most, but not all, of the gathered.

 The crowd stands in awe of Ben's hypnotic charisma.

 Ben and John demonstrate how to hold an egg.

 "Yes, O Great Master."

 " The egg is on your side!"

 Kyle takes a quiet moment with the daffodils to reflect on the advent of spring. 

After church, we all headed off to the Lennons for lunch. We played basketball, blew bubbles, ate a lunch, (some) had water fights, petted the dog, petted the guinea pig, and talked of shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings.

Ben and Ella

 

 A lovely spread of hors d'oeuvres

 Hummus dip and crackers

 John throws his hand up, admitting defeat in the Great Sidewalk Race.

 Due to residual embarrassment from his failure, he expired soon after.

 Jack back-flipped off this tree, but my camera could not catch the moment. You'll have to imagine.

Father Holmgren says a prayer to bless house and home

The carving of the roast beast

 A man of Swedish descent, who told me remembered Swedish words from his childhood. "Latmask!"

 The man with the can; the beard and the beer. 

And as for the rest of the afternoon? I avoided my homework and introduced Melissa to the vlogbrothers on youtube. Their videos are for the people with even the slightest leanings toward nerdhood. She consequently spent her precious time viewing their videos instead of going to bed, nerdfighter that she is.

The Summer's Clarion Call

I am going to Edinburgh! I booked tickets to see Natalie in May! And that is only the beginning of the wonderful things I will do. I shall celebrate Midsummer with my family in Sweden, and in July we will drive down to the southern part of Sweden to attend a Christian conference held during this time of the year. In August, my friend Alicia comes to visit, and Natalie flies in to see me a little bit after that. It will be a summer filled with family, friends, food, and flight, and I am so very excited.

The future spreads out before me and it is full of possibility.

Stormy Weather Ahead

I have recently downloaded the Weather Channel's computer application that gives me the latest updates on the weather in my area. I like to read and listen to weather reports. I am not quite sure why it brings me the sense of peace that it does. I'll look up Singapore online and read about the storms thundering through it, and it's almost like I am there, sitting at a window to watch the clouds turn dark along the horizon.

The button on my toolbar is blinking. I open it. It tells me that there are severe thunderstorms in my area.
 

Yes. Thank you. It's been raining for some hours now, and the view from the balcony is spectacular. You can't beat a good lightning storm.

Jamboree! I'm a Purple Bumble Bee!

I wore my polka-dot dress to class.

 Doctor who? Yes, Doctor Who.

 My friend Peter sent me a letter.

Today was one of those bleary, white-sky days.

After finishing my short story, I went to bed at seven in the morning, slept until twelve o'clock, when I had to scramble out of bed, tuck and roll into my clothes like the next stuntman, shovel some unbirthday cereal into my mouth, and run off to the English department to meet with Bethany Tap and Andrew Luth for our writing workshops. We went over our stories individually and discussed how we could make them better--obviously we must have impressed Gary, who was sneaking around the department in anticipation of the upcoming Youth Writing Festival, enough to give us three bags of Chex Mix. I spent the rest of the day recovering from my struggle with the midnight oil. For the end of the evening, Melissa and I amused ourselves by watching Doctor Who, the latest episode of Sanctuary, and RhettandLink and Julian Smith videos on youtube.  

Potato and Leek Soup

Yesterday I made potato and leek soup, which is quite possibly one of most inexpensive soups you can make, and therefore perfect for the poor college student. There can be fancy ingredients involved--some versions of the soup call for a variety of fresh herbs and cream--but I made mine with whatever I had on hand. In other words, a poor man's version of a poor man's soup.

Ingredients

three leeks

two large potatoes

one cube vegetable bouillon

5 dl water

1 dl milk

salt, pepper, basil, oregano

 Wash the leeks and cut off their tops and bottoms. Peel potatoes and cut into smaller pieces.

 Slice them open along their length and rinse again, as there may be dirt stuck between the leaves.

Slightly brown the leeks in a pot. Add potatoes and water. Let it boil until the potatoes are soft. Cream the mixture with potato masher. Add milk. Add bouillon cube. (I didn't have any vegetable cubes and instead used a chicken cube. It worked just as well.) Add salt, pepper, oregano, and basil as desired. 

Bouillon is a present wrapped in silver paper.