Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Snow!


It is snowing today. The sky has that peculiar texture that it obtains only when it snows—composed of dense, light grey clouds, without a single break for the entire skyline—so that it looks like the normally blue sky has been blocked out by a warm, old blanket that all of CU is snuggling up under. I am curled up underneath the biggest window in my dorm, drinking a mug of hot chocolate as big as my head, and watching the fat flakes fall from the sky.

Back in Oklahoma, snow was a special occasion. During the one or two snowfalls a year, everyone would cluster by the window and watch the flakes come down. When it snowed, schools would shut down, parents would brew hot chocolate, and kids would hurl themselves out to play at the lightest dusting of white on the ground. Snow cemented its special place in my heart one morning when I was eight or nine. My sister and mother and I had made a Jello cake the night before. But, it was not ready before bed, so I was condemned to leave it for dessert the night after. When I woke the next morning and bounced to breakfast, what to my wondering eyes did appear? My mother, holding a large slice of Jello cake and a steaming mug of hot coco to hype me up for a day in the snow. We never, ever ate desserts at my house; so naturally, I could not believe my eyes. I kept glancing up at my mom, waiting for her to change her mind, and snatch the plate away. But she never did. After I finished what was probably the happiest meal of my life, my big sister and I ran outside and played all day in a sugared-up frenzy. My mom even took time off of work to help us build the biggest snow fort in history!

But, I have found that in Colorado, snow does not hold the same magic. Most of the natives I know simply sigh, pull on their snow boots, and resign themselves to a day of slogging through the mud to get to class. At the beginning of summer, when I was waiting out the ninety-degree heat, I would chatter on to my new friends about how I could not wait for it to snow. Most of them looked at me baffled. “Why? Snow is so annoying,” they would reply. So naturally, today as I bundled up in my snow gear, ready to play in the snow, my roommate looks at me, shakes her head, and just says, “No. I am going to fall over. My boots are going to get wet.”

I have begun to react to college in a similar manner to Coloradoans and the snow. Many mornings I sigh, pull up a stack of books, and begin to tackle that day’s to-do list. I have found that college is surprisingly monotonous. Granted, there are great opportunities, but most of my days are spent hacking away at endless homework, keeping up with my paid work, or going to class. Maybe it is just the truth of anything that you live everyday, but the shiny has rubbed off of college, and it can just be tedious.

Today, the snow reminded me to look for the magic in my life. Despite the mud on my academic boots, college is still this fairy-tale place where we can hang out with other intellectuals, sample almost every type of subject imaginable in search of our passion, and when we finally do find a passion, study under leaders in the field.

In the midst of midterm season, I too often focus on the work and the stress, and I lose sight of just how good my life is right now. But, when I am feeling most worn down, I pass in front of a window and watch the flakes come down.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Homesick


I am sitting in bed, watching an inflatable bat that is hanging from the ceiling spin slowly in circles, and this particular bat is making me very homesick.

My mother brought me my inflatable bat—along with some fake spider web and a skeleton that looks like he is spending all of his afterlife tripping on acid—this past weekend during their visit. My mom and dad, as well as an estimated four thousand six hundred other parents, descended upon the campus last weekend for Family Weekend.

“I thought you might like these—since you love to decorate so much,” she giggled with a wink, as she pulled the Halloween decorations out of the duffle bag of goodies my parents brought me. We spent the next hour oohing and awing over my loot, and turning my taupe colored dorm into a very, very small haunted house.

In many respects, my family’s first Family Weekend was a lot like Christmas. Not just because my dad looks eerily like Santa (I actually thought he was Santa when I was little because he had a workshop and wore lots of red around Christmas. He wears the red, I later found out, because so many children stop and ask him is he is the real Santa Clause.), but also because of all of the great presents, the wonderful food, and the company of family. It may have been the happiest day of my life when my parents told me that their goal was to treat me to all the food I normally couldn’t afford on a student budget.

It was wonderful to have my parents around again—even for a little bit. I have struggled to really talk to them over the phone when one or the other of us is always running off to deal with something. It is proving surprisingly tough to synch separate lives. So, l loved having them be a part of my life for a few days, and to be able to have complete, face-to-face, conversations with them. I missed them.

But, eventually we ran out of talks to attend and pictures to share, and the weekend drew to a close. After very long hugs, and three our four attempts to say goodbye, they loaded the car and drove away. And, perhaps the most unexpected aspect of the entire weekend was not how much I had missed my family, but was how I was ok when they left. Once they were gone, I simply walked back to my dorm, chatted with my roommate, and once again dove into the large pile of homework waiting for me at the foot of my bed.

They say you don’t realize how much you change until you revisit the places you came from. I would say the same holds true when those places visit you. It feels like I have been in college for a lot longer than a few months. I have gotten into the swing of my classes, I am starting to build lasting friendships, and I have even come to refer to the dorm as home (sometimes).

I would say I have begun to form a makeshift family at CU. My roommate has gone home this weekend, and I realized that I feel her absence most acutely of all. It is nice to have someone who will be there to ask you how your day went, and to listen to you rant about some impossible assignment or annoying kid in class. I miss having someone to say goodnight to. I believe my biggest change since arriving here has been that I no longer think I am here to “become my own person”, but instead to become a person who understands how we all support each other.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

Ladies and Gentlemen, The Band.



Per Request (Logan) here are some pictures of the CU band doing a pre-game show this past parents weekend. My window faces Farrand field, so I get the joy of hearing these students play the fight song for a good six hours or so on Saturday before the game. But, despite my desire to tear my ears off after the first three hours of repetition, they are actually very talented. Go band and go Buffs! Yay for winning last weekend!

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

What Would You Like To See on the Blog?

As I am sure you can tell, we are in the process of revamping the blog. As readers, is there anything else you would like to see go on the blog? Any topics you would like to discuss. Any videos or pictures you would like to see? Please let me know!

My Knight Rode in on a Shining White Mini-Van


“I give up,” I wailed to my friend after more than an hour of wrestling with every bus in Boulder—only to end up on Broadway and Baseline (less than a block from campus). “I take it you are in need of a rescue, then,” she asked, chuckling. “That would be wonderful!” I replied with defeat my two very heavy bags and I sunk down in the grass in front of Starbucks to wait.

Public Transit has posed my greatest academic challenge. I can handle double entry bookkeeping, standard deviations, and post-modernist philosophies about the role of comics in allowing people to feel, but time charts, rout maps, and transfers are beyond me. Maybe it is because I grew up without public transit, but seriously, why do the transportation gods have to make it so downright confusing? I have been in Boulder for nearly half a semester, and I have only successfully made a round trip on the bus (without help) once.

On the one hand, this is probably a good thing. I have no car, so my choices are bus, bike, or walk. Since I am hopeless on the bus, I tend to stray toward the latter two, which provides much needed exercise for someone condemned to eat seventeen meals a week in the dining halls. In fact, I think my inability to use the bus may be the sole reason I have dodged the freshman fifteen.

But, I hear that the bus can be faster than my current options (I wouldn’t know, it takes me at least forty-five minutes to get anywhere on those god-forsaken contraptions). Also, it has become a point of pride that the bus will not beat me. The Hop, the SKIP, the DASH, and the Bolt have turned from mere motorized vehicles into arch-villains of comic-book proportions. The sneaky devils are out to make a fool of me and foil me in my ends. But they will not win!

As I was sitting in the grass, glaring at the Dash, I realized that I was engaged in this epic battle of wits with the conniving creatures. I saw two plans of action—I could become the poltergeist of the Bus Station, sneaking in and slashing their unsuspecting tires, clogging their menacing tailpipes, and pouring Kool-Aid into their evil gas tanks, or, I could beat them at their own game, and humiliate them as they had done to me!

I suppressed a maniacal cackle as my rescue rode up in a white mini-van. It may not have been the prince on the white horse I had envisioned to accompany me in my quest, but at that moment I would take it! Lugging my bags into the car, I greeted my dinner party with profuse apologies, and the promise that I would get the hang of the buses eventually. My friends laughed, and spent the car ride back explaining that there were these things called bus schedules, and how they worked.

Armed with my new knowledge, I headed out to the bus the next day—only to wait forty-five minutes, realize that I had missed two busses I could have caught, and finally board the 203 half eaten alive with frustration. I wish I could say the ride went smoothly, but it was full of bumps and jostles (both literally and metaphorically). I did manage to get off at my destination (an hour after I left) when a very kind four-year-old showed me how the string to request a stop works.

I doubt that the bus and I will ever really get along. But, every few days I work up the courage to give it another try, and stumble through a trip or two before taking a break. The way I see it, so long as I master this bus thing before I become a college graduate, I can preserve a shred of my dignity. So, I will slowly, reluctantly continue to try, and hopefully I will eventually succeed by sheer persistence. Maybe that is what they will call me during the re-telling of my bus stop showdown—“That’s Persistent Girl,” they will whisper, “Watch out for her on a bus near you.”

Sunday, October 11, 2009

What To Do With My Parents?

Hey everyone,

Thanks for the suggestions on where to find the best mac and cheese! My friend and I had a blast this weekend. Now I have a new puzzle facing me. My parents are visiting next weekend. They are the type who need constant entertainment, so do you have any suggestions for what we can do?

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

I Want My Mommy!


When I was a little girl, I used to sneak into my mothers bed while she was sleeping and burrow under the covers as fast as I could—making a little “cave” with the blankets to hide in. After about a minute or so, my mother would pop open her eyes, leap out from under the covers, and stick her head in the cave, while attempting to tickle my cover swathed body. “Who is that hiding in my bed?” She demanded while we both spasm with laughter.

I am lying in bed, sick and bored, and I have never wanted my mommy so much. I keep hoping that if I burrow under the covers, maybe some magic will make her face appear like it used to when I was little. But, no matter how many times I try, my trick never works—she is still in Oklahoma.

Getting sick is probably the most difficult part of college. Back home, I would be curled up on the living room couch right now, watching endless episodes of West Wing, while my mom made me split pea soup. Instead, I am stuck in my noisy dorm (which fluctuates between being frigid cold and balmy more often than a woman in menopause), eating an only slightly repulsive dining hall salad, and avoiding a small mountain of homework—I miss my mommy.

The thing I hate the most about being sick is having to get my own soup. I know that sounds very spoiled, but I liked that I never had to exert the effort to get up off the couch and get my own food. And, I miss being hugged—a lot.

Earlier in the week, when I first got sick, I was determined to be a trouper and suck it up. I don’t need my mommy. “Rebecca, you are a college student,” I tried to tell myself in a mom-style slap down, “Suck it up, getting your own soup is not that bad. It is not like you are in the hospital!” Despite the annoyingly surly side of my mind, which pointed out that at least in the hospital there would be a pushy nurse in Scooby-do scrubs who would bring soup to me, my self talk did sort of work.

It worked, that is, until I talked to my boss…who is sick as well. “I hate not having my mom when I am sick. That is the worst—still.” That small comment quietly dropkicked my shaky resolve not to mope. You mean this feeling never ends?!? This woman is a mother herself—if she still misses her mom, than I am forever doomed!

But, I am hopped up on enough medication to still feel the need to learn something besides self-pity from this experience. So, here it is—no matter how mature and put-together we may seem, no matter if we are mothers in our own right, or simply striving to convince ourselves that we can be adults, when life give us lemons, we all need our mommies to sit by our bed and tell us everything will be alright.

But, I have managed (and the help of some happy, symptom relieving little pills) for the last three days to pull myself away from my pillow and self-pity, and get myself a cup of soup. Even though I know I can manage without her, I think I will succumb to the temptation and call my mom.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Where is the Best Mac and Cheese in Boulder?

My friends back in Oklahoma and I were on this quest to find the best restaurant Mac and Cheese in Oklahoma City. We are not talking any blue box, Kraft excuses, this is real Mac--the kind with at least three cheeses (and on one eventful night black truffle) in it. Now, one of those friend is coming up to visit, and I have a sneaking suspicion that she will want to continue the search in Boulder. Unfortunately, as a poor college student, I don't eat out a lot, and don't know where we should start looking. Any suggestions? Also does anyone know of any cool places/events I should take her to while she is in the area? She is coming this weekend, so please tell me about your ideas ASAP! Thanks!

Thursday, October 1, 2009

A Good College Try

When I was fourteen and just entering high school, my friend sat me down, looked me straight in the eye, and said “Becca, don’t do dumb things.” As simple as this advice may seem, it really did keep me out of quite a few tangles in those high school days. When I was about to jump into something, I would quickly halt my enthusiasm, take a breath, and ask myself, “Would this qualify as a dumb thing?”

Apparently, I should take some advice from my high school self; this past week I did a dumb thing. We had this project in Business Statistics; we were to make an executive report. It was due on Friday, and like a good student, I intended to start it over the weekend. But, then the weekend was gone, as was Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. The week was just consumed by the midterm monster, then the lit paper monster, then the work and illness monster. So, Thursday evening rolls around, and I am all revved up for an all nighter—yeah, going to do a stats project!

Since I am doing a statistical tracking of this blog (yes, I am watching you), my professor let me do an alternate project where I got to analyze some of the data from the blog and present it in an executive report. As my professor put it, “That is more interesting than analyzing gas prices.” So, I open my word document and put my header on the page, begin to pull up my numbers, and whip out my calculator to crunch some numbers; that is about the time that my project imploded. I spent eight hours that night trying to untangle the data with no luck. I called all of my friends who had gone through statistics—my sister even re-ran the numbers for me. Yet, still we could not get them to work out.

Now utterly lost, I composed a long email with a battery of questions for my professor, called it a night, and went to bed. Mid-morning the next day, my professor wrote back, telling me to go ahead and use the numbers if I found nothing wrong with my math. She answered my other slew of questions, told me she would be checking her email throughout the day (but was out of town and could not meet me) and even offered to chat online if I got too lost.

With two hours on the clock, I began again on the project. I was plugging shakily along, when I ran into another couple of problems. I now had thirty minutes before class, and no hope of finishing on time. So, I wrote my professor asking her my questions and asking for an extension.

The clock struck twelve-fifty, and I had to get to class. I still had not heard from my professor, and the project was not completed. Hoping that my request for an extension would be granted, I scampered to class without my half-finished project.

When I got back an hour later, there was an email waiting in my inbox—from my professor, answering my questions and telling me, “there was ample time to complete the project” and she could not grant an extension, but that she looked forward to reading it.

After nine hours, four computers, and several very frustrated phone calls, I sent it off to her—late. I attached an email begging for at least partial credit. Then, I did what any mature and capable college student would do, and called my mommy.

“Mom,” I sniffled, “I have had the worst day!” My mom let me whine out my story for about thirty seconds, at which time she quite calmly slapped me down. “Well, what did you expect? You wrote her on the last day, when she was probably busy. In her eyes, you clearly put it off until the last minute. This is college, they don’t reward that kind of behavior,” she said. “But are you ok?” She added as a motherly afterthought.

If you have ever dived into a cold lake, you know the sensation when you hit the water and the temperature shock quickly plugs up your nose and mouth in an instantaneous suction-like effect. This is the best way I can describe my reaction to my mother’s words. With a gulp and an instinctual holding of my breath, I gasped out, “I guess I am now,” and said goodbye.

Now fully aware of my own absurd over-reaction (thanks to my mom’s much needed verbal sucker punch) I had no choice but to wipe my eyes, take a deep breath, and get on with life. I am working on developing a compulsion to finish my homework at least two days in advance (which is proving much harder than I would like), and I realized that one poor grade is not the end of the world. Whoever invented the phrase “a good college try,” must have been a c-average student, because as my mom was happy to point out—that won’t cut it now.

A Question for You

I am starting something new on the blog. Now, several times a week, I will post a question that I am currently struggling with and need some other opinions on. I would love it if you would let me know what you think!

Is there such a thing as a "good college try"?