Criminal behavior.

There is breaking news here in 406 as of yesterday evening, most certainly worthy of sharing.

So, my roommate Carmen’s sister is here with us for the week; she came all the way from Spain to explore Atlanta and experience the Ogle life. But she did not come with ease. Yesterday, while I was in the library writing up a storm, apparently Carmen came bursting through the door in 406 exclaiming something about bad news. Upon further questioning from Clair, it was determined that Carmen’s sister had been waylaid at the airport in Florida and would not be here for another several hours. As a result of even more prodding, the shocking truth was entirely revealed.

Apparently, somewhere between flights in Miami, Carmen’s sister was stopped by the police under the surprising charge of being the sister of a dangerous terrorist. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Carmen, my roommate–the terrorist. Because of Carmen’s secret life of treachery, her sister was detained in Miami for some time and finally released in time to make it to Atlanta after midnight.

Now, I’m sure it is clear, but it should be said (because this is the internet, and ridiculous rumors travel fast) that Carmen is not a terrorist in the least. I just spent like a whole 2 minutes trying to think of something terrible or terrifying that I could tell you she does, but it’s pretty hard to have anything against her. If you count excessive love of chocolate as a vice, this she is quite guilty of. Also, she happens to share a name (both first and last) with an infamous terrorist. Otherwise, I’d say I got totally blessed in the roommate sector of college life–as per usual.

Anyway, that to say that we were all relieved to see Carmen’s sister safely on 406 soil (er, tile), and also mildly amused by the shenanigans that detained her. Such criminal behavior is not to be tolerated–violators will be blogged about.

Curvature.

I am a woman, living on the Western side of the world–with this come many things.

From the beginning, I have believed that I can make a difference. I am a force of indomitable will, if I so choose to be, and the thoughts I think have the potential to become instigators of justice, protectors of a worthy cause. I am told that I have rights–to speak freely, to believe deeply, to pursue a life of liberty–and I am encouraged to defend these. I am reminded, often and emphatically, of the great legacy of ladies who have blazed the trail before my time: women who immovably upheld the dignity they knew should be theirs, for my sake as well as their own. Almost to an unbelievable hyperbole, independence is thrust into my hands–this is the gift that America gives to her women: that she would be able to speak, live, and dream for herself.

But something is amiss.

She will speak, live, and dream, but she will be wrapped in an image of impossible proportions–literally. The softness of her arms, the sweeping curvature of her hips, and the skin that trembles with want of firmness when she walks, these things must all be changed. There is one way, or possibly a handful of ways, to be lovely. Some are born lucky, but many must spend their lives dreaming of it, striving toward it, and secretly fledging a quiver of insults against herself for what she cannot make herself become. Often, even the one who looks the part feels her own lack–she keeps a list in her mind of what to say when her friends are pointing out their own inadequacies. “Me too,” she says, “I don’t eat desserts anymore. I hate how my stomach looks.”

And in doing so, she walks away from the freedom she’s promised. She won’t know how to be what she believes the world needs because she still believes she needs the world to tell her how to be.

The great outdoors.

I spent the majority of this day traversing through the open air, through woods and by the sides of creeks and rivers. Well, a creek, a lake, and a river. I don’t discriminate when walking near to bodies of water–they are all acceptable hiking companions to me.

Anyway, the day began at 8:49 when I awoke to the sound of my phone vibrating and then my friend Natalia’s voice: “Were you sleeping? Do you know we’re leaving in 10 minutes?” In my characteristically panic-free crisis mode tone of voice, I informed her that I did know we were leaving soon and yes I had been sleeping, but now that I was awake I would be making my way out the door posthaste. Which I did, in a record time of something like eleven minutes. Granted, it probably shouldn’t even take that long to put on hiking clothes, but I did my best.

So, after that small bump in the road, we were on our way: me, Natalia, Kate the Great, and Katie and Allee from my small group. We had been planning to go hiking since the beginning of the semester, and literally chose this date in January. It was kind of a big deal. So, when we had to alter our plans from hiking at Raven Cliff in Helen to hiking at Sweetwater Creek in Lithia Springs, where none of us had ever ventured before, we were a little apprehensive. Would the water falls be majestic enough? Would the trails be rugged to our liking? Would the sky overhead still radiate a perfect robin’s egg blue?

As it turns out, ladies and gentlemen, the answer to all of this is a resounding YES, above and beyond our expectations.

Seriously, if you are looking for majestic waterfalls, rugged trails, or perfect blue skies, Sweetwater Creek is the place to be. I recommend you take some of your favorite people, and make sure your adventurous side is feeling loose and ready to spring into action. You never know what kind of knobby trees will need climbing…

It’s my party.

I should say to you all first that I am not above stooping to the level of bribery when it comes to children–and most particularly, bedtimes. A couple of weeks ago, I told the 8 year old I babysit that if he would stay in bed and not get up for any “emergencies” or important thoughts he might need to share, I would bring him a special surprise next time. It worked like a charm. I mean, not surprisingly, I suppose. Unknown gifts are rather charming to even the more aged among us, I think, and this allure only increases the younger you are.

So, tonight, I was utilizing this tactic on the 3 year old as I was trying to persuade him to put his head on the pillow and surrender. His mom mentioned a couple of weeks ago that if he wasn’t listening, I could ask him if he wants to have his birthday party or not, and he would likely be frightened into submission. Let me tell you–if surprises are charming, birthday parties are downright spellbinding. Almost every time I mentioned it, he would nod or say “yes” in grim resentment and then snap out of whatever he was or was not doing. As I was coaxing him into sleep, however, things took a turn for the worse:

“Emir, emir. Do you want to have a birthday party or not?”
“I want to have an angry party.”
“You want to have…” (grinning) “an angry party?”
(frowning intensely) “Yes.”

How is a babysitter supposed to turn that one around into a compelling command? “Uh, well, you can only be angry if you go to bed first, okay?” Not exactly effective, I’d bet. I just laughed and continued down another path of persuasion, having learn that even the birthday party promise is not an all-powerful one. But hey, on the very bright side, today was the first day I didn’t have to hold this child while he flailed and screamed “I… don’t… want… you!” So, that seems like a noteworthy improvement to me.

Also, I was given left-over gourmet birthday cake as part of my payment tonight. So, I ask you, who gets to have a party now?

Just, some words.

On my mind tonight…

1. I have adventure on the brain–I have ever since the weather began to tease us out of doors–and it’s tough to focus on much else. I want to be riding on horseback or canoeing for miles.I want to be hiking the Appalachian Trail with my dog and my husband as company. I want to be wilder than I am now.

2. I learned today that space and time are so connected that relativists call them by one rather unimaginative combination word: spacetime. When something travels at a fast enough speed, it actually shrinks, or if it’s a clock, the hands slow down. My mind = boggled.

3. Kate told me tonight that men and women supposedly do not reach a complete stage of maturity until the age of 25. I’m kind of hoping this is a lie.

4. I promised the 8 year old that I babysit I’d bring him a prize next time I came because he was so good last time. “Next time” is tomorrow. I am now realizing that I don’t know how to buy a cheap present for an 8 year old boy–especially one who has so much already.

5. Eleven days until I turn 21! Now accepting suggestions for what YOU would do if you were me.

6. My eyelids are drooping. I surrender.

Accomplished.

In Jane Austen’s day, I would be considered accomplished if I’d mastered the following skills by the age of 17: drawing, playing piano, singing, dancing, speaking well, laughing quietly (or not at all), reading, and a whole array of domestic pursuits that would render me implacably destined for child-rearing. Somehow, I should be able to educate these children (but not love them to excess), while entertaining guests on a daily basis and being sure to call on my neighbors at the appropriate times of day. I should be fond of my husband, prone to some sort of regular exercise, and a good Christian. These are just the basics. More could be said about the kinds of people with whom I choose to associate and the types of books on my bedside table. “Accomplished,” dear reader, was a loaded gun kind of a word.

Today, I feel accomplished because I did all the things on my mental list, even beyond that which I actually expected I would do. But I wonder if someday a hundred years hence a girl with write a paper about my generation and say how busy, how flurried, how anxious we were to get everything done amidst an endless array of to-do’s. How little we expect of our spirits, our courage, our boldness, and how much we demand of our ability to multitask, to do it all at once and smile about it. How often we brush by adventures and opportunities, even in small things, because we are on our way, in a hurry, to the goals we’ve laid out for ourselves. How we miss the throbbing, trembling heart of life when we cannot stop, even for beauty or love itself.

So, what I come to when I think about this word–for more than the purpose of the paper I will write–is that we need redemption, all across the board. Outside of time and outside of human efforts, God waits to awaken us to something much bigger than ourselves. Sometimes I think we believe we’ve got it all figured out because we’re not making women wear corsets or go on mandatory house calls anymore. Perhaps the solution is much lovelier than a simple transference of cultural values–perhaps it is grace, unending and undeserved, to cover everything we have done and everything we cannot do.

Cherished.

This is the only time, to date, that a comment from a previous blog entry has been made the main substance of a new entry. I found some very kind words, written by my sweet Aunt Kathy, waiting for me in my inbox when I got home from church tonight:

‘When love lies deep within your heart, tears are always close at hand…especially when your deepest soul dreads the close-at-hand separation of summer vacation.’

Followed by this excerpt from a poem that I couldn’t identify, (Maybe she wrote it? She’s a smart one.)

“Your laughter vibrates through my thoughts.
I cannot rid myself of the
enchanted happiness that bubbles out
into a cherished memory”

I love those words, and I think she hit the nail on the head. Summer is looming close, and my heart hangs heavy at the thought of being far away from a lot of people I love, but especially that Swedish boy I’ve grown so fond of. There are other sorts of things tugging at my emotions, I think, but this is a big, fat, unavoidable blip on the radar screen–growing closer and clearer every day.

One happiness worthy of mentioning, however, is that my wonderful roommate and best friend Beth Cleary will be remaining close by (instead of her usual trek up to South Carolina for the season). Kate the Great, too, will be within coffee-date and sleepover distance. Thus, I will not be completely devoid of at least two of my favorite Oglies for the summer months, and I will be quite busy writing many much letters to the rest.

Oh, and getting brown, living at home, having free time, and playing with kids. I’ll be doing those things too. Summer is so bittersweet.